


An Ineffable History

by LilithReisender (Lilith_Queen_Of_Demons)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale (Good Omens) - Freeform, Crowley (Good Omens) - Freeform, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Flirting, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Historical Figures, History, How to I tag "genderless celestial beings in love with eachother?", I promise they get together eventually, M/M, Mostly accurate historical references, Mutual Pining, Other, Pining, Seriously these two idiots need to get their heads on straight, Slow Burn, The Garden of Eden, These two being idiots for 6000 years, Through the ages fic, lots of flirting, not-quite-enemies to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2020-06-25 13:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 39,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19747012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilith_Queen_Of_Demons/pseuds/LilithReisender
Summary: The Nice and Accurate history of the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, on their relationship over 6,000 years.Aziraphale and Crowley have known each other since the beginning, quite literally. From the gate of Eden to the end of the world, they have been there for each other- tempting, thwarting, and even helping (not that their respective head offices need to know). As the millennia go on, the two grow closer and closer, and there are words that both off them need to say, but neither of them quite know how.





	1. In the Beginning there was a Snake, an Angel, and a Garden

**The Garden of Eden, 30 days after the beginning,**

In the Garden, there was a snake. Over time it has been told that the snake was the Devil himself. The Embodiment of All Evil who came to tempt humanity and bring them out of paradise. In reality, it was far less dramatic than that. The snake, who the others of his kind had decided to call “Crawley,” was not a _minor_ demon per se, but he was nowhere close to the Devil. He slithered through the tall grass and the blades gently scraped against him as he wrapped his long body around a tree and slithered upwards until he found a suitable branch that was high enough and could hide him. Had anyone actually _seen_ Crawley they would have said he changed in the blink of an eye. But, as there was nobody there, he simply changed. One moment he was a large black snake, the next he looked more like the rest of his kind, human- at first glance. He leaned against the tree trunk somehow both lounging and looking like he was about to strike. _Go on up there and make trouble,_ he thought, closing his bright yellow eyes for a moment, _do the bastards bother and tell me how to do that exactly?_ He let his wings hang down and relax as he peered through the leaves of the tree to observe the humans. Why the Almighty had created them Crawley did not know. There were only the two of them so far, and to Crawley they just looked a bit… _fragile._ Crawley just didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. But his place was not to ask questions, he had learned that lesson the hard way. He watched as the female one, Eve- he remembered she was called, pet a large striped cat as it lounged in the sun. The male one, Adam- was not looking at his wife, instead his attention was on something in a tree that Crawley could not see. Adam jumped multiple times until he pulled down a large white feather from its hiding place. Now _that_ got Crawley interested. He immediately recognized that particular type of feather, _angelic._

Crawley carefully dropped down from his vantage point on the tree, making sure the humans hadn’t seen him. He wasn’t going to do anything to them today, Crawley decided, they hadn’t done anything yet, might as well let them enjoy their innocence while they can. Besides, Crawley had heard a rumor about a tree with a forbidden fruit, now _that_ might be something he could use to his advantage. He decided to stay in his human form, there was most likely no one else there to see him and besides, it did offer a more pleasing view of the Garden then just grass.

The tree was easy to find, right in the middle of the garden. _Really,_ Crawley thought as he approached the clearing, _what was the Almighty thinking putting the most beautiful tree in the middle of the Garden, and then saying “Wait, don’t touch that_ one _tree specifically.”_ Something moved in the clearing and Crawley ducked behind the tree line. He watched through the branches and leaves as the mysterious thing came into view. An angel in a white robe, with large white wings, and hair so blonde it seemed to emit its own light. Crawley looked down at his outfit, he had never thought much about it, but seeing his own black wings and robe made him feel so much darker than the angel- which, he supposed, he was. Crawley watched, captivated as the angel reached up into the tree and gently cupped a late bud into his hands. The angel smiled as the bud blossomed into a beautiful white flower as he let go of it. Crawley, entranced, took a step closer, trying to see more of the angel through the leaves, when a loud snap pierced the air. Crawley blessed under his breath as he ducked down, careful to not step on any more sticks. He watched as the angel picked up a large sword from the ground. _How had he not noticed that?_ The sword suddenly burst into flames as the angel brandished it out in front of him.

“Who goes there?” The angel yelled, turning towards Crawley. “Show yourself!”

Needless to say, Crawley did not move muscle. The angel despite the flaming sword, did not look the least bit threatening.He looked around for another moment before putting the sword out and making his way back to the tree. Crawley had not realized he had been holding his breath until he exhaled, slowly standing back up at turning back towards the angel and the tree. Now _this_ might be worth paying attention to.

For the next few days Crawley followed the angel around the Garden. He couldn’t explain it, but there was something about the angel that fascinated Crawley. He watched as the angel guarded the tree, though “guarded” was a loose description for what he did. Mostly the angel stood there talking to the various animals and making plants grow. Crawley began to notice things about the angel the more he observed him. Crawley noticed that when the angel was in the sunlight it his hair shined as if he constantly had a halo around him. He began to see that, even though this angel had been gifted with a flaming sword, he did not seem to use it very much and he seemed perfectly content to leave his sword on the ground and wander around the Garden, seeming to enjoy every little thing about the place. But even though Crawley could now point out tiny things about the angel’s expression, he still did not know his name. It wasn’t like Crawley could simply go on up and ask him. The angel’s entire purpose was to keep demons like him away from the Garden. Not that he was very _good_ at that, but still, better not risk it.

On day five of angel-watching Crawley got a message directly from hell while he was following the angel, saying he had to come back down that instant. Crawley didn’t recall getting the message, but suddenly it was just there in his head. He glanced at the angel, who was smiling at a bird, before changing back to his serpent form. He slithered to a very specific, if unassuming, tree and dug directly downwards into the dirt. Within a minute he broke through the ground of hell, where one of the dukes was waiting for him. He shifted back to human to stand eye-to-eye with the duke who had summoned him. Crawley bowed stiffly.

“Duke…” he trailed off, not quite daring to disrespect them by getting their name wrong.

“Dagon, Master of Torments, Lord of the Files.”

“Duke Dagon, what seems to be the problem?” Crawley asked, his voice just a bit teasing.

Dagon seemed to not notice the joking tone, because they scowled. “The problem is, _Crawley,_ that we sent you up there six days ago and nothing bad has happened yet. The Dark Council has half a mind to bring you back here and let some other demon have a go at it.”

“My apologies, Dagon, I have made a plan, but there is a problem…” Crawley trailed off, trying to think of an excuse

“Yes?” Dagon nodded their head expectantly,

“An angel! Guarding a tree that the Almighty herself has forbidden from the humans. I can easily enough tempt one of them, but the angel is a bit harder to get rid of. I have spent days tracking him, analyzing him, but to no avail.” Crawley sighed dramatically.

“We had heard a…rumor that the Principality Aziraphale was in the Garden, but we thought-” Dagon continued speaking, but Crawley toned it out. _Aziraphale,_ he thought, _so that’s his name!_

“I’m sure you’ll be able to get around him.” Dagon was saying, “He can’t be vigilant forever. Very well, you may head back now, but do be quick about it. You only get the one warning.” Dagon threatened. They walked out of the room and Crawley began to dig his way back to the Garden.

Crawley watched as the angel began to wander around the Garden, looking at the plants he must have seen hundreds of times by now, yet he still went to each one and inspected it. Crawley had seen this routine before; it would take the angel a while before he went back to the tree. Normally Crawley would have watched the angel smile at each flower and leaf and make more grow, but he could feel hell losing its patience, and he knew that this would be the only time he could follow his orders without getting caught.

Crawley slithered over to where Eve had been resting, playing with a chain of flowers. He had decided that it would be best if he did this as a snake, it would make him harder to get caught. He slithered right next to Eve and began to whisper in her ear,

“ _That tree in the middle of the Garden has a magic fruit. The fruit tells you secrets._

_“If you eat it you will know as much as God does._

_“Just one bite will give you more than you could ever imagine._

Crawley watched as Eve walked up to the tree and plucked a perfectly ripe apple from the tree. She took one bite of it and smiled. Crawley wondered what exactly she knew now, because he had no idea what was so special about that fruit, only that the Almighty did not want anyone to touch it. Eve brought the apple over to Adam and convinced him to take a bite, and as he bit into the apple, a heavenly light appeared in the sky. It was time for Crawley to leave before he got caught.

Crawley slithered up behind the angel on top of the gate of Eden. He figured that he might as well introduce himself to the angel, he had just taken away his job. He shifted to human form, standing right next Aziraphale.

“Well,” he said quietly, “that went down like a lead balloon.”

And so they talked. Crawley laughed at Aziraphale as he stuttered about giving his sword away to the humans. This angel was unlike the others he remembered from heaven. This one, it seemed, was truly kind, and Crawley couldn’t help but wonder how he hadn’t fallen. As the first few drops of water fell from the sky, Aziraphale lifted his wing to shield Crawley from the rain; and Crawley couldn’t help but notice the warm feeling in his chest as he stood, protected underneath the angel’s wing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I fixed a formatting problem where the paragraph indentations would not show up or would mess up the layout of the other paragraphs when read on a phone.


	2. An Angel in the Nile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter deals with slavery that happened in the past and the atrocious ways the Hebrew people were treated. I do not go into graphic detail, but if any of this makes you uncomfortable or has a chance to trigger you, please skip this chapter.

**Egypt, 1571 BC**

It had been a long time since Aziraphale had visited Egypt. It wasn’t necessarily a _choice,_ but there had been some advancements in other countries, and Gabriel had sent him to oversee a few things; a blessing here, a divine vision there, but a few days turned into a few months and a few months turned into a few years and, well, there may or may not be a few _tiny_ cities in the Mediterranean that were technically under his protection. Aziraphale had not heard much from heaven the past few years, and he had been quite surprised when they called him and told him to go to _Egypt_ of all places. He had been under the impression that some of the higher-ups had been covering that territory, and the task that he had been assigned could have been given to any lesser angel. He did not understand why exactly they had told him to go there, or at least not until he got there.

He arrived just in front of the Pharaoh’s palace hoping to blend in and not attract much- if any, attention to himself. He had hoped a simple white tunic would make him unremarkable enough. Unfortunately for him, he stood out like a hawk among pigeons. He had landed himself directly in the Pharaoh’s newest construction project, and was- to his horror, surrounded by what appeared to be slaves. Not only slaves, but each slave seemed to be one of the Hebrew people who heaven had been ordered to protect. Aziraphale looked around and saw that the people were so thin they looked like they hadn’t eaten in days. Some of them were chained together with heavy ropes and were passing along clay and other materials. They were being watched by men with whips- Pharaoh’s men. Aziraphale was horrified. The idea that humans could do this to fellow humans because of some idea of supremacy made him feel ill. He began to think of a way that he could help these people, _maybe I can take away the guards’ weapons. Maybe I can convince the Pharaoh to set them free. Maybe-_ A horrified scream pierced the air, interrupting his thoughts. Aziraphale looked around to where the noise had come from. He saw a woman being held back by her arms as another guard carried something away from her, Aziraphale could tell instantly that it was a baby. One guard was struggling to hold the mother back as she fought as hard as she could to escape his hold. Aziraphale ran up to the guards, distracting them from their task. He snapped his fingers and both men stopped, frozen in place. Aziraphale unclasped the guard’s hands from the woman’s wrists and took the baby from the other guard, placing it back into the crying mother’s arms.

 _“Run”_ he whispered to her, hoping she would understand him, “bring the child home, he will be safe.” The woman took off as fast as she could, ducking behind the palace walls. Aziraphale exhaled and then realized he had made a mistake. He had frozen two of the guards, but not the others. The other guards unfroze and they began to circle him suspiciously. Aziraphale held his hands up and began to walk backwards until he hit a wall.

“Now, there needn’t be any unpleasantness here. If you would just let me speak for a moment, I’m sure we could work something out.” The guards pressed closer, trapping him with curved knives that Aziraphale had not seen earlier. He prepared to do another miracle to get himself out of the situation, when a booming voice echoed off the walls.

“Do not harm him!” The voice commanded, Aziraphale looked around to see who had spoken. He looked up the wall of the palace and saw the last person he expected to see coming down from the palace, _Crawley._ “Do not _dare_ harm him.” Crawley repeated as he reached them, stepping in front of Aziraphale and glaring at the soldiers, “Or you will face my wrath.” Aziraphale was shocked as he watched the soldiers back up and put away their weapons with a look of fear in their eyes. “Return to your posts this instant.” Crawley glared at the guards, who all but ran away from him. Leaving Aziraphale alone with the demon.

“I suppose I should thank you?” Aziraphale asked as Crawley turned around to face him.

“Don’t, say _anything_ of the sort.” Crawley snapped, "I could get in real trouble should my lot get wind of that."

“I don’t mean to be rude but-” Aziraphale started, cutting himself off.

“Yes? Go on?”

“Why on earth did you do that? We are _enemies._ I can’t have heaven knowing you helped me anymore than you can have hell knowing the same. We are supposed to be at constant war with each other.” Crawley muttered something that Aziraphale couldn’t make out. “What was that?”

“I said,” Crawley sighed, “it would be a waste to have you disappear on me now. Who knows who’d they send next? Some sort of proper angel who would do their job and smite me without a second thought. At least you know when to let a few things slide.” Aziraphale was unsure whether this was a complement or not, so he just nodded. “Now then, would you like to come inside?” Crawley gestured to the large palace behind them. “The food is simply _divine._ ”

As they walked through the palace, Aziraphale took a moment to examine the demon’s attire. He wore a black skirt that went down to his knees and had a belt on that looked very much like a snake. He also had nothing covering the top half of his body other than a red sash that went from his across his chest from shoulder to waist. His hair was down and fell just past his shoulders in ringlets. He seemed to be dressed as if he were… royalty. Crawley turned around while walking and caught him staring. The demon smirked.

“See anything you like?” Aziraphale stuttered for a second before replying

“I was simply inspecting your outfit. A bit more… wealthy, than normal?” Aziraphale asked, thinking of all the times he had seen Crawley dressed as a peasant to hide himself.

“You’ll see why in a minute.” Crawley led him down the hall to a room with a large painting on one of the walls. There was an image of a large black serpent curled in various directions that took up almost the entire wall. Underneath the snake was what looked like fires and people being burned. Facing the snake, though not quite as large, was a man in white with a flaming sword. Aziraphale stared at the painting.

“Is that snake supposed to be…” He trailed off, looking at Crawley.

“Yep. These Egyptians, they see a man with yellow eyes and don’t immediately think “oh no! A demon! I should run from this creature screaming” but instead they go “Oh, a man with yellow eyes? Must be the reincarnation of this snake god of ours.” Crawley laughed. “Not that I did anything to discourage them.” Aziraphale glared at him.

“Crawley this is _blasphemy.”_ He said, looking horrified, “Even you should know better than to imitate Her. She can get offended very easily by that sort of thing.”

“Look, they way I see it, I’m not claiming to be the Almighty. I haven’t even said that I _am_ their god, granted I didn’t say I _wasn’t_ their god either. Technically, not blasphemy.” Crawley smirked pleased with himself for getting around punishment.

“Technicalities.” Aziraphale found himself saying. But he knew the demon was right. Heaven was all about technicalities.

“Now, Aziraphale, can I interest you in a meal?”

Crawley led him to a lush room surrounded by red curtains and pillows. There were soldiers at the door who backed up as soon as Crawley approached. They stared at Aziraphale as he followed behind Crawley, eying him with curiosity but saying nothing. Crawley led him to a mat where they sat down across from each other. Crawley lounged on his side, propping his head up with one hand. He waved his free hand and within seconds a man walked into the room and set a plate of fruits down right in front of them, casting a curious glance at Aziraphale before silently walking back out. Crawley picked up a plum and began to pick at the skin, not quite sure what to say next. Aziraphale spoke first, sparing a glance at the guards by the door.

“Why does everybody keep looking at me in that strange way?”

“Like what?” Crawley asked, turning to follow Aziraphale’s gaze.

“Like I’m something… abnormal. I’m sure I don’t look that much stranger than others who have been here before.” Crawley thought about it for a moment.

“Probably because to them you look like a priest of a sort. And the blonde hair _is_ abnormal here. They probably think that you’re some sort of godly messenger sent to talk to me.”

“Oh,” was all Aziraphale said. He looked extremely uncomfortable with the idea of having been misconstrued for some other sort of divine being. They sat in an awkward silence for a bit, Aziraphale fiddling with the stem of another fruit.

“So, Aziraphale,” Crawley sat up, “what exactly brings you to Egypt? Last I heard you were protecting some city in Greece.” _Well,_ Aziraphale thought, _clearly that rumor got around quickly._

“There is a baby I was sent here to protect. Upstairs said he was going to be dreadfully important. His mother is going to place him in a basket in the river, why I have no idea, and I’m supposed to make sure he gets to safe hands.”

“I might know why.” Crawley said hesitantly, he looked at Aziraphale, who made a _go on_ gesture with his hand. “The Pharaoh’s gone a bit mad as of late. Decided that the Israelites were getting too many. As of yesterday, he made the official order for the guards to kill any newborn Israelite boys.” Aziraphale stared at him, eyes wide. “Don’t give me that look!” Crawley snapped, “Wasn’t _my_ idea. Told him not to do it. Don’t like killing kids.” Crawley muttered.

“The woman in front, is that why she…” Aziraphale trailed off. Crawley just nodded his head. Aziraphale opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, then thought the better of it. After a moment he changed the subject.

“Why are _you_ even here Crawley? If not to cause the Pharaoh to do evil deeds.”

“I’m supposed to,” Crawley sat up straight and put on a haughty look, imitating Dagon, he said “ _Bring in to the house of the Pharaoh what will be his downfall.”_ Crawley relaxed, leaning back again. “Thought it was supposed to be me, go into his house, tempt him. But he’s vile enough as it is. I don’t really have to do any work.” Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he began to think about their respective missions.

“You don’t suppose its possible that- that we could be-”

“Oh, spit it out Aziraphale. Got something to share with the rest of us?”

“Could we- I mean, could we possibly be working the same job?” That caught Crawley’s attention. He sat up again, looking Aziraphale dead in the eyes.

“What _exactly,_ do you mean?”

“Think about it for a moment, will you?” Crawley’s yellow eyes suddenly widened and his jaw dropped.

“You don’t mean? They can’t possibly be?”

“It does appear to be so.”

“You don’t suppose we should-”

“Work together so that all turns out well for our respective sides?” Aziraphale finished Crawley’s sentence. “I was thinking the exact same thing."

Two days later Aziraphale and Crawley stood next to each other as they watched a woman run away from the king’s palace. She held a basket out in front of her as if it were the most precious thing in the world, which- to her- it was. The woman ducked into a patch of reeds on the shore of the fast-slowing river and held the baby to her chest for what she thought would be the last time. The woman kissed the baby on the forehead and set him into the basket. He fussed for a moment, but Aziraphale just waved his hand and the baby went to sleep. Another wave of Aziraphale’s hand and the river slowed to a gentle flow, carrying the baby smoothly downstream.

“Your turn.” Aziraphale muttered. Crawley shifted into his snake form and began to slither downstream, using a bit of extra speed to stay even with the basket as Aziraphale guided the baby to another woman downstream.

The Pharaoh’s daughter had decided to go down to the river to bathe with her handmaidens that same day. As she swam in the river, something floating caught her eye. She screamed for one of her handmaidens to go swim out to the basket as soon as she saw it and had it dragged back onshore to her. She gently picked up the sleeping baby who began to cry, and the princess began to rock the baby in her arms. She looked around for who could have sent it, and saw no one upstream who could have sent it. The princess began to wonder exactly what she should do with the baby when a soft voice began to whisper in her head.

 _“Take him back to the palace,”_ The voice hissed, the princess looked around, startled, but saw no one else there but her handmaiden, and it looked like none of them had heard anything. _“Let him live there. Raissse him as your own.”_ The princess ordered that her handmaid take the baby to be nursed by one of the Hebrew women at the palace. Unnoticed by any of the women, a snake in the reeds slithered away.

The princess brought the baby before her father and announced that she intended to have him raised as her own son. The Pharaoh held him for a moment, and it seemed as if the baby began to glow in his arms. The baby smiled and grabbed the Pharaoh’s fingers with a strong grip. Something inside the Pharaoh softened as he handed the baby back to the his nurse who, unbeknownst to anyone else in the room, was also the baby’s mother. He allowed the child to stay in the palace and be raised as if the baby were the Pharaoh’s own kin. Aziraphale, hidden behind the corner in another room, smiled to himself and left the palace.

Aziraphale and Crawley stood next to each other on the shore of the Nile, both of them silently watching the sun set behind the river.

“Brilliant plan it was. Bringing a Hebrew child into the house of the Egyptian royal family. That could certainly end the Pharaoh’s line.” Crawley said over the roar of the river. Aziraphale smiled.

“Well, _“bring into the Pharaoh’s house what will be his downfall”_ made it fairly clear to me what we were supposed to do; after you told me what was happening with the babies. He paused for a moment before speaking again, "Honestly, I am very welcome to the idea of watching that human end.” Aziraphale spared a sad look at the palace. He could still see the Pharaoh’s slaves working in the distance.

“You can’t save all of them, angel.” Crawley said softly. Aziraphale turned back to face him.

“I know. I just wish upstairs would let me do _something_.”

“I understand.” Crawley said, and Aziraphale saw, what looked like genuine sadness cross the demon’s face, if just for a moment. Then his usual smirk returned. “We make a rather good team don’t we Aziraphale?”

“Yes, I suppose we do.” Aziraphale smiled at Crawley.

“Maybe we should do our work like this more often.” Crawley suggested, “Stick together. Our work was far easier and much more fun with us working together. Plus, it’d make life a lot more exciting.” Aziraphale was about to say yes. He was so tempted to agree until a thought sprung to the front of his mind. _He’s tempting me._ The smile left the angel’s face as he answered.

“No,” Aziraphale watched Crawley’s face fall. “We can’t. If our respective head offices find out that we worked _together_ on a job like this we’ll both be in a world of trouble.”

“Oh. Yes. I suppose you’re right.” Crawley’s face had reverted back to its normal nonchalant manner, but he did nothing to hide the disappointment in his voice.

“I should probably go. I’m sure there is going to be loads of paperwork to explain this one.” Aziraphale began to walk away, leaving Crawley alone on the bank of the Nile. He turned back after a few paces.

“Crawley?” He asked, the demon turned around. “Next time we run into each other, would you like to join me for a meal?” Crawley smiled, and as the sun set behind him, he seemed to have a flaming red halo around him.

“There’s nothing I’d like more."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that chapter got a bit darker than I thought it would. Next one will be more light I promise.  
> 1) For those of you who were NOT forced to go to church by an overly-religious grandparent for years, or for those who are unfamiliar with Judeo-Christian literature, the baby was Moses, who grew up to free the Isrealites from slavery in Egypt.  
> 2) I thought it would be funny if people mistook Crawley for the human form of the Egyptian god of chaos Apophis/Apep, who is usually depicted as a large snake.  
> 3) If I referred to the Hebrew people in a way that was incorrect or offensive, please tell me so that I can change it. I promise I do not want to offend anyone, I was just trying to stay as true to the original story as I could.  
> 4) Thank you to everyone so far who has sent Kudos, comments, and subscribed. It really means a lot to me.


	3. What's in a Name?

**Athens, Greece, 6 BCE**

Aziraphale, to put it plainly, was rather bored. Heaven had been silent for the past few months, and after the Library of Alexandria had been burned down some decades earlier, Aziraphale had found that his taste for the area had left him. Sure, there were little miracles that he did on a daily basis: calming screaming children so the mothers could get a rest, or making fruit bloom just a bit early so families could have something to eat, and those were always nice to do, but they were still minor things. He had decided, after a fair bit of deliberation, that he needed a change in venue. Aziraphale had heard about the city of Athens in Greece, and how it was growing to become one of the most intellectually brilliant cities in the Mediterranean. There had also been a few rumors about a new type of “religious experience” that had Aziraphale wondering what all the fuss was about.

He arrived in Athens after about a week of being stuck on a boat from Egypt, and found himself thrust in the beginning of a giant festival. There were people in the streets carrying vines and large jugs of some liquid or another. He watched as the crowd parted fearfully for a group of serious-looking young women in pale togas, each carrying a glittering pinecone on a stick. Some of them would tap jugs that people were carrying, and the people would nearly collapse thanking them. Aziraphale watched the festivities around him and could not help but feel like he was missing something important. He looked around at the people in the streets, there were merchants in carts selling bread and foods of various sorts. Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped in surprise.

“Excuse me sir,” a high voice said, Aziraphale turned around, and saw that it was a child carrying a large jug in his hands. “Can I offer you a drink?” The boy smiled, and Aziraphale could see bags underneath his eyes.

“No dear boy, I am quite alright.” The boy visibly deflated. Aziraphale miracled a single gold coin into his hand. “I have just arrived here after a long time of traveling, if you could tell me what exactly is going on here, I will give you this in return.” The smile was back on the boy’s face and his eyes lit up.

“It’s the festival of Dionysia!” the boy exclaimed, eagerly taking the coin from Aziraphale’s hand. “The harvest just came in, so we have to celebrate and thank Dionysus for blessing our crops.”

“Ah, well then. Off you go young one.” The boy ran away towards a maze of buildings and huts in the city.

Aziraphale watched the humans from the sidelines for a bit. Officially, he had to disapprove of the whole “worshipping pagan gods” thing, but unofficially, he found that he was rather enjoying the festivities. These types of things reminded Aziraphale why he loved humanity: people just coming together to enjoy themselves not being good, not being bad, but simply _being_.

A young woman pushed her way through the crowd towards him. As she approached, he saw that it was one of the same young women who he had seen the crowd part for earlier. The pinecone on a stick was facing down now, and she looked far less serious than earlier.

“You look like _just_ the person my friend has been talking about!” She giggled, a lopsided smile on her face.

“Excuse me?”

“My friend- um, αυτός που κουνιέται? Ολίσθημα? Something like that. You look _exactly_ like how he described you. Bright hair and everything.” Aziraphale had met many humans over the millennia, but it had never occurred to him that any might remember him as anything other than a passing face, let alone talk about him to strangers.

“Is your friend here? Right now?” Aziraphale had to admit he was curious about who she could be talking about. The woman looked embarrassed.

“No, I don’t know where he is right now. But he’ll be here tonight. For the party I mean.” She paused, “You should come to the party tonight!” She exclaimed after a moment. “I’m sure he’d _love_ to see you.”

“I would enjoy seeing him again too- I assume anyways. Where, exactly is this party going to be held?”

The woman grinned widely as she said, “The clearing in the east woods. Tonight, from sundown to sunup. Oh, he’s going to be so excited!” She then promptly skipped away without another word.

Aziraphale looked up at the sky, he had a few hours until sunset. He supposed he should go into the crowd and blend in a bit. Who knows, maybe he would even see that mystery person who had been talking about him.

Aziraphale had thought that the young woman’s instructions would be easy enough to follow but- as it turns out- “clearing in the east woods” was a bit too vague to be followed precisely. So far while he had been trying to find his way through the dark woods, he had come across multiple deer, a cougar, and had heard some girls giggling suspiciously from behind a tree. He was almost ready to give up and return to the city, if he had any idea as to where the city was. He was debating whether or not it was worth it to miracle himself out of the woods when he saw lights through the trees. _Finally,_ he thought, stepping into the clearing.

The clearing was absolutely _filled_ with humans of every imaginable size, shape, and color. There were musicians playing various tunes and people moving in a way that _might_ have been considered dancing to someone who did not know what dancing looked like at all. There were multiple fires set up with people lounging around them eating and drinking and talking (there was also a fair amount of people kissing in various locations, but Aziraphale elected to ignore that). Almost every single person in the clearing had some sort of drink in their hands.

“Aziraphale!” someone yelled in the clearing, and suddenly Aziraphale’s arms were filled with a demon who he had not seen in decades.

“Crawley?” He asked incredulously, the demon pulled away from him, but held his forearms tight.

“Hello angel! How long’s it been?”

“Alexandria. The library.” Aziraphale answered.

“That- that one wasn’t me.” Crawley held one finger out in front of him, poking Aziraphale’s chest for emphasis.

“I remember Crawley, though apparently you do not.” Aziraphale unclasped himself from the demon’s grip. Crawley pouted, then slung his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Aziraphale stiffened for a moment, before allowing Crawley to lead him through the clearing.

“What exactly are you doing Crawley?” Aziraphale asked after Crawley had tripped over his own feet for the _third_ time in twenty seconds.

“’m not drunk.” Crawley muttered as he held out his arm and someone handed him a goblet of a dark red liquid. “Have you tried this stuff? Greeks call it _wine._ ‘s like that stuff we used to have, su- su- bitter stuff back in the old days”

“Surāh?” Aziraphale guessed.

“Yes. That, but _better!_ Here,” Crawley held out the goblet in front of Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale _knew_ that Crawley was tempting him, but when he looked into Crawley’s eyes, he found himself, unable- no, _unwilling_ to say no. He took the goblet from Crawley’s hand and held it up to his lips. He was surprised to find that he actually… liked it. A lot. He drained the entire goblet and watched as Crawley began to laugh.

“This is quite good.” Aziraphale said, looking at the goblet. “Is this something new?”

“New? No no, not at all. You’ve just been in the wrong part of world for too long that’s all.” Crawley held up his hand and the young woman who had invited Aziraphale to the party came up to them with another goblet and a jug.

“Hello again young lady,” Aziraphale held out his goblet as she poured wine into Crawley’s and his goblet.

“Astarte! You find this one?” Crawley slurred, taking a swig from his goblet.

“Yep!” Astarte giggled, “Saw him in town and I just _knew_ he was the one you had been talking about.” Someone yelled for more wine and Astarte looked at Aziraphale, winked at Crawley, and then wandered off.

“What was that about?” Aziraphale asked, he had already nearly finished his second goblet and everything around him was starting to get hazy.

“I have no idea.” Crawley took another swig.

Several drinks later a _very_ drunk angel found himself lounging on a mat facing an also lounging, even more drunk demon. Crawley was playing with Aziraphale’s fingers as Aziraphale was trying to finish telling a story about the time he had been accused of blasphemy by the Pharisees.

“Wait,” Crawley said, interrupting him, “You mean to tell me that they tried to have you locked in _jail_ because you called the Almighty _she?”_ He burst out laughing.

“In hindsight it _is_ rather funny,” Aziraphale admitted, suddenly very aware of Crawley’s fingers on his hand.

“’s bloody hilarious it is. Locking an angel up for blasphemy.” Crawley smiled at him, a full smile that Aziraphale had not seen in a very long time.

Aziraphale could see the dancing fire reflecting in Crawley’s eyes, and in that moment, it seemed to Aziraphale as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist other than the two of them. The people in the clearing, heaven, hell, it all dropped away as Crawley smiled at him. In a moment of drunken bravery (or that’s what he would later tell himself) Aziraphale moved the hand that Crawley had been fiddling with and placed it on Crawley’s cheek. Aziraphale noticed Crawley tense underneath his hand. He ran his thumb over Crawley’s cheekbone, and the demon softened, leaning into Aziraphale’s touch. He met Crawley’s gaze, leaning forward slightly as he did so.

“You have lovely eyes,” Aziraphale said, he could feel his heart thumping erratically in his chest.

Crawley said nothing as he stared at Aziraphale with an expression that he couldn’t decipher. Slowly, as if afraid he would scare Aziraphale off, Crawley reached up and covered Aziraphale’s hand with his own. Everything around them was still as Crawley turned his head ever so slightly, and pressed a light kiss to Aziraphale’s palm. Crawley locked eyes with Aziraphale as he let their hands drop between them. When had they gotten so close together?

“Crawley-” Aziraphale started, then stopped. Why were the words not coming out? “Crawley,” he tried again, “I mean- are you-” Crawley fell on his back and groaned.

“Always hated that name. _Crawley_.” He shook his head. Aziraphale laughed, and just like that, time began to flow normally again. He was sure that he had been about to say something important, but he couldn’t remember what.

“It doesn’t quite suit you,” Aziraphale said, “You’re a serpent. You don’t _crawl,_ you _slither.”_

Crawley rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know that. I mean I need a new name. One that’s less crush-me-underneath-your-feet and more powerful-demon-agent-of-hell.”

“Do you have anything in mind?”

“Mephi- Mephis- Uhg! Mephistopheles?” Crawley enunciated every syllable of the name.

“Already taken I’m afraid. By one of yours.”

“Asmodeus then?”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow, “Bringer of lust?” Crawley winked and Aziraphale felt his face heat up as Crawley laughed. “Someone thinks highly of themselves.” Aziraphale muttered, ducking his head in embarrassment.

“Zosime?” Aziraphale suggested, “Survivor?”

Crawley shook his head. “Nah, not quite.”

The night went on like that for some time, throwing out names and suggestions. Eventually the sun began to rise and the crowd began to thin, wandering back to town or to their respective homes, or back to the festival to continue drinking. Eventually, Aziraphale rose and held out his hand. Crawley stared at him for a moment before taking it and standing up next to him.

“We should both probably get going.” Aziraphale said. Crawley still hadn’t let go of his hand.

“Right- er, yes.” Crawley muttered, looking around as if just now noticing that they were some of the only ones left.

“Would you like to join me in the festival today?” Aziraphale invited, not quite wanting the demon to leave quite yet, although he didn’t know why. “I’m certain it will be lots more enjoyable with company.”

Crawley smirked, “Can’t bear to be away from me?” He teased and Aziraphale rolled his eyes at him. “Yes, I’ll join you. Can’t have you doing too many good deeds.” He dropped Aziraphale’s hand and stepped back towards the path.

“Come along then angel,”

They began the long trek back to Athens. Aziraphale’s heart fluttering confusingly as they walked in a comfortable silence. He realized, for the first time (but certainly not the last) that Crawley, though they may be on opposite sides, was the only being Aziraphale could say knew more about him than anyone else on Earth or in Heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Astarte called Crawley “the one who wiggles” and “slither."  
> 2) Astarte is the Greek name for Ashtoreth. Did you know that Ashtoreth is considered to be a goddess of sexuality and war? (Thank you Fandom.com for having a giant list of female ancient Greek names) Crowley, why did you choose that name specifically for Nanny Ashtoreth? What are you trying to tell us?  
> 3) I was considering writing a one-off little thing about the burning of the Library of Alexandria (I’m CERTAIN Crawley didn’t do that one, but he did take credit for it). Tell me what you guys think.  
> 4) Thanks to everyone so far who has been kind enough to read this and leave Kudos and comments. You guys are the best!  
> 5) I have family coming into town this week, so I don’t know when I’ll be able to post the next chapter, but I’ll get it out there as soon as I can.


	4. The rubble or our sins

**Pompeii, Rome, 79 CE**

Crowley downed the last of her beer and motioned for the bartender to bring her another one. She sat alone at the bar counter, both seats next to her were empty, which she didn't mind in the least. She always sat alone these days. She wore a long black chiton that she knew flattered her, the straps fell elegantly off her shoulder and a necklace in the shape of snake rested over her collar bones. She looked stunning and not a single soul could deny it. No one _dared_ come near her. They had figured that she was someone they should stay away from on her first night there when some drunk man had groped her thigh and she had- without saying a word- lifted it off her and broke every single bone in his hand. That had taught them fast enough to leave her alone. Even the ones who weren’t regulars quickly learned not to mess with Crowley. _Except one, apparently,_ Crowley thought as someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“Crowley?” a familiar voice asked from behind her. A voice that she hadn’t heard in almost forty years. She swiveled around and found herself facing Aziraphale, who looked much the same as when she had last seen him at Petronius’s restaurant. Her heart most certainly did _not_ start beating like a racehorse as the angel smiled at her. Aziraphale stepped back and took in the new outfit, the long hair pulled over one shoulder, the necklace.

“You look lovely my dear.” He said, completely oblivious to the fact that now everyone in the tavern was staring at them, most likely wondering something along the lines of: _Who the hell is that man and why has she not killed him already?_

Aziraphale proceeded to shock the room even more by asking to sit with her and ordering a drink. The bartender side-eyed Aziraphale and gave Crowley a look that she could interpret as: _Do you need this one handled?_ Crowley smiled and shook her head. Aziraphale drained his drink impressively fast even for Crowley’s standards.

“It is quite nice to see you again Crowley, it has been far to long.” Aziraphale spoke as he set his cup down on the counter.

“I agree,” she allowed herself to give him a full smile, completely aware that she was baffling the entire room by doing so. _This will give them something to talk about._ She took one last swig of beer before standing up and holding her hand out to Aziraphale.

“ _Columba?”_ the pet name slipped off her tongue, “Shall we go elsewhere?” She hoped Aziraphale would take a hint. She _did_ still have a reputation, and she would rather salvage what little of it she had left. She tossed a few coins on the table as Aziraphale stood up and took her hand, following behind her as she led him into the busy streets of Pompeii.

The creeping darkness did nothing to deter the crowds of people bustling in the misshaped streets. Crowley pushed through them, leading Aziraphale away from the backstreets and into the main square where people were beginning to light torches as the sun set, illuminating the mountain that overlooked the city. Crowley dropped the angel’s hand and turned around to face Aziraphale, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, only to find him staring at her intensely with an unreadable expression.

“Out with it,” she flicked her hand, “I know you have something to say so spit it out already.”

“How long have you been in Pompeii?” Aziraphale asked, fidgeting with his ring.

Crowley narrowed her eyes in suspicion, “Three or four years now.”

“So… not too many attachments then?” Aziraphale wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“What, _exactly_ do you mean by that?” Crowley hissed, suddenly defensive. She didn’t know where this was going, but she didn’t like it.

“Oh- you know, houses, restaurants, music,” he hesitated and raised an eyebrow at her, “humans.”

“Humans? Why would I-” _Oh._ It hit her like a slap in the face. This whole time Aziraphale had thought that she was- wow. Crowley could feel her face get hot in embarrassment. She had _really_ underestimated what the angel thought of her. She steeled her gaze as she locked eyes with Aziraphale.

“No. And I would request you not imply anything of the sort again.” A memory rose unbidden to the front of her mind: those bright blue eyes staring at him as the angel placed his hand on Crowley’s face, the fire behind him turning Aziraphale’s curls into a golden halo. Surely, he must have realized by now- no. Of _course_ he hadn’t.

Aziraphale sighed, “Good, that will make this easier. How-”

“What are you doing here Aziraphale?” She cut him off, stepping closer to him.

“Something I probably shouldn’t be,” he muttered, so quiet that had she not been so close to him she wouldn’t have heard. “Crowley, how long will it take you to leave, to pack up and just… go elsewhere.”

“Why are you asking these things angel? What’s going on?”

Instead of answering, Aziraphale looked past her and scanned the crowd. His eyes widened and he grabbed Crowley’s arm, pulling her into a nearby alley.

“What was-” Aziraphale shushed her, putting a finger to his lips. He pointed to the square and Crowley saw what had startled him. The Vigiles, the city’s local police and town brutes, were beginning to patrol the streets, looking for the more suspicious of Pompeii’s nightlife.

“Thiss doesn’t look susspiciouss at all doess it? She hissed, lowering her voice to a harsh whisper. “A man dragging some poor woman into an alley. They totally won’t be looking for us now.”

“At least now we’re out of sight for the time being.” Aziraphale huffed. He clutched at Crowley’s arm desperately. Crowley was suddenly aware of how close together they were, of how Aziraphale was looking up at her, pleading silently.

“Angel, what is going on? I haven’t seen you worked up like this in-”

“There’s something coming Crowley, something big. They won’t tell me what, all they said was that I needed to be far away from the area when it goes off. They told me not to save anyone but,” He closed his eyes and exhaled before continuing.

“I heard a rumor that you were here- well, I heard a rumor about a beautiful red haired woman with yellow snake eyes, and I assumed it was you- but anyways, I kept thinking about Sodom and Gomorrah, about those cities in Egypt that they- and I- I had to warn you. To give you a chance to escape.”

Crowley was speechless. Aziraphale had come all the way here, from wherever he had been for the past few decades, to come warn her. To save her.

“Why- why are you telling me this?” She stammered.

“Because- because four thousand years Crowley? We’ve known each other for four _thousand_ years. I can’t quite call you my adversary anymore, I mean- the plums in Egypt, the wine in Athens. We’ve been together for things that no other living thing on earth is still alive to remember. We have been here together literally since the beginning. You are the only being in the universe that I can call my closest friend. If you died here somehow, I would never forgive myself if I hadn’t at least warned you.”

Crowley gaped at him and backed up, she needed space to think. _Friends?_ Could they pull that off? While Crowley would be the first one to admit that she had always been drawn to the angel for some reason, she had never (while sober and in daylight) allowed herself to consider that Aziraphale might be drawn to her too, that there was the possibility that he might consider her to be more than The Enemy. Most of the time she was half-convinced that Aziraphale was Her way of making Crowley’s time on earth as torturous as possible. Because it _was_ torture, being absolutely and utterly smitten with the very thing she was supposed to be fighting against. But- she supposed- if friendship was what he was offering, well, anything was better than being enemies.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked hesitantly. She turned around and faced him.

“Only if you come with me.”

“What?”

“I will leave, but I want you to come with me. Isn’t that what friends are for?” She smirked and Aziraphale sighed in, letting a smile float onto his face.

“Besides, I think I still owe relief you from last ti-ungk!”

The ground began to shake beneath them, throwing Crowley off balance. Aziraphale caught her and they held onto each other as the dust from the walls began to fall around them. Crowley heard screams in the air as the humans ran for cover, but by some (angelic, she suspected) miracle, no one joined them. Later, Crowley realized, neither of them had to hold onto each other like that, they were in very little danger, and they could have just flown away; but in the heat of the moment, Crowley buried her head in Aziraphale’s shoulder as he muttered about how _it shouldn’t be happening now_ and wrapped his arms around Crowley, pulling her close. They held each other until long after the earth had stopped shaking, neither of them pulling away from each other for quite some time.

Aziraphale moved first, gently pushing Crowley off of him as he begun to survey the area around them. They were surrounded by dust and rubble, and Crowley could see new cracks in the walls around them. Where there had been screams and rumbling just moments before there was a haunting silence.

“I think,” Crowley said, standing up to her full height, “That is our cue to leave.” Crowley walked out of the alley and into the empty square. She rolled her shoulders and let her wings come out with a sigh. It felt so good to stretch her unused muscles.

“Crowley, the humans- what if they see?”

“They’re all hiding, if they know what’s good for them. Nobody will see us if we leave now angel.”

Reluctantly, Aziraphale joined her in the dark square. He spread his large white wings, and Crowley remembered their conversation on the gate of Eden, remembered those wings protecting him from the first storm on earth. Aziraphale gave him a silent nod and they both lifted themselves from the ground. Crowley let Aziraphale lead the way. She knew that she would follow Aziraphale wherever the angel took her, and for the time being, she was happy to follow along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked this chapter. I really felt lile writing some Female!Crowley, because I absolutely love the fics that acknowledge her gender-fluid/genderless existence and I just had to add to the mix.  
> 1) The nickname that Crowley calls Aziraphale, _Columba, _is Latin for dove. I thought it was a cute nickname and one that would completely suit Aziraphale__  
>  2) Title is taken from Bastille's _Pompeii. ___  
> 3) Thank you so much to everyone who has stayed with this so far! Seriously, it means so much to me and you guys are so nice. I appreciate every one of you!


	5. A not-quite demonic Arrangement

**Angers, France, 1020 CE**

Crowley was doing his job for once in his demonic life, and lurking in an alley. It wasn’t what he preferred to be doing by any means, but it was necessary sometimes. His work was supposed to have been simple: a suggestion in the ear of a baker and a hint of greed for a seamstress. There was no reason for it to have been so bloody difficult. Sure, the baker had been easy enough, all Crowley had to do was lightly suggest that there was something very valuable coming to town and that it could improve his life immensely and he had been on board. The seamstress, however, was another matter entirely. No matter what he did, Crowley could never quite seem to get under her skin the way he had with others. That is, until Crowley finally caught it. A slip of the hand easily hidden behind a skirt, and a sudden flush of her cheeks as she scurried away with her prize. _Excitement! Of course!_ The woman must have been bored out of her mind, sewing and patching things up day in and day out with little recognition or pay for her work. She would resort to anything to feel just a rush of excitement. It had taken him five days to figure it out, but now he knew what he was supposed to do. He whispered in her ear, just a slight idea, but enough that she would want to do it. Another whisper and she had known who to look for.

Crowley slunk backwards into the alley, ready to disappear back to the tiny inn where he had been staying for the past few days, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Blonde hair was nothing abnormal in France, but Crowley recognized this particularly _otherworldly_ shade of blonde. Aziraphale. What the hell was he doing here? Despite his better instincts, Crowley began to follow the angel through the streets. He made sure to keep his distance, although he knew he most likely could have gone up to him, now that they were “friends.” But when they had landed after escaping Pompeii, Aziraphale seemed to have remembered that they were supposed to be on opposite sides. Crowley had fallen asleep out of pure exhaustion underneath an olive tree, and when he had woken up, Aziraphale was gone. He had explained to Crowley, far later, that he was afraid that heaven would see them together and assume that Aziraphale had saved him, therefore putting them both in danger. It was a perfectly reasonable explanation, but the memory of waking up alone underneath that tree was still painful. Since then he had seen the angel in passing over the last few centuries, but never for more than a few hours at a time, and they had never talked about what had happened in Pompeii.

And now here he was, following Aziraphale through the city like some human stalker. Aziraphale didn’t seem to be doing any particularly angelic work. In fact, it seemed like he was simply doing the opposite of what Crowley did on a regular basis. Small things that lead up to bigger things that the humans thought up themselves. Aziraphale walked down the street and a baby stopped crying, a merchant sneaked bread underneath his cart and handed it to a street urchin as Aziraphale passed them. Aziraphale looked behind him for just a second and suddenly made a sharp right, ducking out of Crowley’s sight. Crowley hesitated, before following Aziraphale behind a building.

Someone grabbed Crowley’s shoulder and spun him backwards, catching him off guard. His glasses flew off his face as his head slammed into the brick wall behind him. Aziraphale’s forearm pressed against Crowley’s neck with a strength he hadn’t known the angel had, effectively pinning him against the wall.

“Who the _heaven_ are- _oh,_ ” Aziraphale said softly, as if he was just now realizing who he was looking at. “It’s you.” He lessened the pressure on Crowley’s neck, but didn’t move away.

“Well hello to you too Aziraphale.” Crowley smirked, seeing an opportunity and deciding to take it. “Geez angel, if you’d wanted to shove me up against a wall all you had to do was ask. There was no need to lure me behind a building, although I suppose this works.” Aziraphale’s face turned bright pink and he backed away. Crowley didn’t help the situation by winking at him.

“What the- what are you doing here Crowley?” Aziraphale stammered, “Following me around and scaring me half to death.”

“Minor temptation. I’m supposed to set up a seamstress and a baker to go run off and-”

“Have an affair?” Aziraphale guessed.

“No. They’re going to steal a painting from one of the noblemen.”

“Oh?”

“Not important. What are _you_ doing here Aziraphale? Last I heard you were over in China.”

“I was, but then I got called here. Small miracle, but still. Now I’m here until the end of the week.”

“Well then,” Crowley offered a somehow both elaborate yet still mocking bow, extending his arm out to Aziraphale. “Care to join me for dinner. I haven’t seen you since- when was it we last met up?”

“The second council of Nicaea.” Aziraphale visibly winced, still bitter about the mass burning of all those books and tomes.

“That one wasn’t mine. I tried to save that one version for you. You know- that one with the _“Angel who guarded the Eastern Gate?”_ Aziraphale blushed again and laughed.

“Come on Aziraphale, I’m sure there’s someplace you want to go.”

“I’m afraid I can’t tonight. I have erm- other arrangements.”

“Oh?” _This could be interesting._ Crowley thought. _What could get Aziraphale to say no to dinner?_ “And what sort of _arrangements_ do you have this evening?” Aziraphale glared at him.

“Nothing like you’re thinking I’m sure. I’m meeting someone about acquiring a new book that’s all. In fact, I think I ought to be going soon.” Aziraphale bent down and picked up Crowley’s glasses from where they had fallen.

“There,” Aziraphale handed Crowley back his glasses. “Now goodbye Crowley. I’m certain we’ll see each other again soon.”

_Soon, sure. Maybe I’ll see you again next century._

**Madrid, Spain, 1020 CE**

It had hardly been a week since Crowley had left Angers to go to Spain of all places. After he had reported back to Hell about the success of the painting thievery, they had immediately sent him to Madrid for another job. This time he was supposed to mess up some construction on a castle wall. What that would do exactly, Crowley had absolutely no idea. But there he was anyway, making a castle a bit drafty for some reason or another. He had decided that this city was not much to his liking. The sheer number of priests, for one thing, made his job much harder. All he needed was someone catching a glimpse of his eyes and trying to exorcise him, or worse, _blessing_ him. Now _that_ would be a story to tell to Dagon. He could imagine the conversation already:

_“Why, Crowley, were you discorporated and sent back here?”_

_“I was on a job and some human took pity on me and invoked Her name to save my soul. And now here I am.”_

He would never hear the end of it.

Crowley got the job done quickly and left the castle as soon as he could, leaving it just a bit colder than it had been beforehand.

Madrid wasn’t anything particularly special. It was small and well-defended, and sure there were a lot of people, but there was a problem with relatively-new cities like this one: very little attractions. That left Crowley with almost nothing to do and nowhere to go. Sure, he could rent a room and sleep for the next few hours, or days, (Crowley had always thought the humans had the right idea with the whole “lying unconscious for multiple hours at a time” business) but he felt like he had to keep moving. Like he had to be _doing_ something. So, he wandered, both physically and mentally. He kept thinking about Aziraphale and their little interaction last week, how Aziraphale had suddenly gone from being intense and almost intimidating to flustered stuttering, that soft little _“oh”_ when he had realized it was Crowley. And Crowley knew that officially they were supposed to be enemies, and that unofficially they were friends, but what did that mean exactly? It’s not like they were skipping around and braiding each other’s hair (although that _had_ happened before. Not the skipping, but the braiding) and how did an angel and a demon go about being friends anyways?

“Crowley?” _Speak of the devil._ Crowley turned around and found himself face to face with Aziraphale, who looked quite pleased to see him. 

“Well, this is a surprise. What’re you doing here Aziraphale?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“Just doing another job? You?”

“The same, I’m afraid.” There was an awkward pause. Crowley wasn’t quite sure what to say. In the past, he had gone decades without seeing Aziraphale, seeing him twice in two weeks was uncharted territory.

“May I join you in…whatever it is you’re doing?” Aziraphale asked him after a moment.

“Of course.”

Aziraphale fell into step beside Crowley and he began to lead the angel- where he wasn’t sure. They ended up in the middle of a large open space surrounded by buildings. _La Plaza Mayor_ Crowley remembered overhearing. It wasn’t busy, but there were merchants calling out in Spanish about jewelry and food.

“Would you like anything?” Crowley offered, wandering up to the nearest stall.

“Might as well.”

Crowley bought two orders of some sweet-smelling desert that the vendor informed him was called _leche frita,_ and then sat down at a small table that had been set up. Aziraphale joined him, gushing about how delicious it smelled.

“I suppose it is rather odd,” Aziraphale said after finishing the last piece. “that we should run into each other so soon. Not that I’m complaining.” He added quickly, “But I am rather tired. I’ve been running around performing miracles and blessings constantly as of late.”

“I have to agree with you there.”

They continued chattering along after that for a while about business and things that had happened to them over the centuries. Crowley laughed as Aziraphale told him about how Gabriel had begun to wear the clothes of a Byzantine king,

“Except,” Aziraphale fumed, “he was wearing them all _wrong!_ And I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that. So I sat there for twenty minutes watching him strut about and order angels around while looking like a fool. And then-” the church bell rang through the plaza, interrupting him.

“Is it that late already?” Aziraphale sighed, “Well, I suppose I must be going now, I still have work to do.” He smiled at Crowley, just for a second. “Goodbye Crowley, it was rather nice catching up with you. I’ll owe you one for next time, yes?” Aziraphale stood up and held out his hand. Crowley shook it, and Aziraphale walked away towards the church.

Crowley watched Aziraphale disappear into the streets, suddenly aware of how very alone he was.

**Oxfordshire, England, 1020 CE**

It had been a month since Crowley had last seen Aziraphale. For the first few weeks after he left Madrid, he had found himself scanning every crowd for a sign of the angel, but it was becoming clear to him that Aziraphale was not here, and he had no idea when they would meet again. It was quite frustrating. Even worse, Crowley never quite knew how Aziraphale would react to seeing him. Would he smile and offer a friendly greeting? Or would he be nervous, as if Crowley was going to try and fight him at any moment? It was a roll of the dice. He thought back to Pompeii, to Aziraphale’s emotional outburst. How Aziraphale had thought to save her. Remembered burying her face into Aziraphale’s shoulder. But he also remembered waking up alone the next day underneath an olive tree with no sign as to where Aziraphale had gone. He remembered feeling afraid, and angry- at who he wasn’t sure, and he remembered his chest aching in a way he had never felt before. He had walked until he found the nearest town and had gotten drunk for a week, trying- and failing- to get rid of the hollow feeling in his chest.

But that had been hundreds of years ago, and it would destroy him to keep lingering on it. He needed to focus on the present, which currently consisted of sitting on a bench doing absolutely nothing but being cold. He wasn’t even surprised when he saw Aziraphale walking towards him, he just moved over on the bench and let the angel sit down next to him.

“It’s always nice to see you angel, but this is ridiculous.” Crowley sighed.

“I must say I am beginning to agree.” Aziraphale shivered slightly, his breath turning to steam in the evening air.

“How about you come back to my place for a drink? I have a room at an inn and a few nice bottles of wine.”

Aziraphale made a face at him, “Don’t I owe _you_ a meal still?

“Well now you’ll owe me two.”

“It _does_ sounds rather nice.” Aziraphale mused, “At any rate, it’s better than freezing out here.”

When Crowley said he had a room at an inn, what he actually meant was that he had the largest, most expensive room in the most expensive inn the city had. It had a small table next to an elaborate window, an ornate wooden wardrobe, and an equally ornate bed in another room. The fireplace lit itself automatically as Crowley entered, filling the room with a warm light. Crowley led Aziraphale to the table and opened up one of the bottles of wine he had brought with him, pouring it into two glasses. They drank in silence, that is, until after Aziraphale had drunk two cups and stood up stiffly, beginning to pace the room.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes? Ought not to do that angel, takes a lot of fun out of things.”

“About what you said back in Wessex.” He ignored Crowley and continued pacing. “About how it would be easier if we both stayed home. Because you were right! We’ve been running around like madmen these past few weeks cancelling each other out. Whenever you do something, upstairs tells me to go make up for it, and I can only assume it’s the same for you.”

“It is,” Crowley confirmed. He had been saying as much for centuries.

“It’s so-”

“How about a compromise?” Crowley interrupted.

“Compromise?”

“Compromise, deal, arrangement, whatever you like.” He stood up and faced the pacing angel.

“Look, Aziraphale, we’ve known each other for millennia, literally longer than any beings on earth. It’s not any of our superiors who are here with us, no. It’s just us, working very hard, in very unpleasant places sometimes, all to cancel each other out.” Crowley was not quite thinking on the spot, the half-formed thoughts had been there for centuries, it was just now that they were becoming something tangible.

“What if we- what if instead of working against each other all the time, we work together?” Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak, but Crowley held his hand out to quiet him. “Hear me out okay? I don’t mean we change sides either of us, that would be idiotic- and most likely impossible, I mean: We stay in touch. Tell the other when we have a job somewhere, and if we both have to go to the same place, we toss a coin or something and only one of us goes there. Maybe we give each other some leeway in terms of projects. That way, neither of us wins, but neither of us loses either.” Aziraphale still looked uncertain. He had stopped pacing by now and was instead fidgeting with his hands anxiously.

“Think about it this way, we can both do more of what we want to do, while also reporting to our superiors that we are working against a cunning and mischievous enemy.”

“But can demons even _do_ things like blessings and miracles?”

“I don’t see why not, I _was_ an angel once, must still have some of the same power.” He paused, thinking for a second. “Let me prove it to you, one small miracle from me to prove that it’s possible.”

Crowley held out his hand, palm facing up, and where there had been nothing before a bright pink Camellia flower bloomed. He held the flower out for Aziraphale, who was looking at it with an expression that looked like shock and something else entirely.

“That good enough for you?” Aziraphale said nothing, he just kept staring at the flower, running his fingers over the petals carefully, as if it would disappear.

“If we do this, we’d what? Stay in touch, stay out of each other’s way, help each other out when necessary?”

“Something along those lines. And, if it doesn’t work, we can always go back to doing what we were beforehand.” He took a step closer to Aziraphale, “What do you think? Do we have a deal?”

“I think we do.”

“Well angel, I think you know how you’re supposed to seal a deal with a demon.” Crowley smirked and stepped forward, winding his arms around Aziraphale’s waist and pulling the angel up against him. He stared into Aziraphale’s eyes, hoping to let across _exactly_ how demon deals were done. Somehow Aziraphale managed to look both flustered and irritated at the same time as he averted Crowley’s gaze. He put his hands on Crowley’s chest, gently pushing him away.

“You cannot possibly be implying that this is some sort of infernal contract. It can’t be- not if I am to be in any way involved.” _Oh well,_ Crowley thought, stepping back with his arms up, _It was worth a shot._

Aziraphale held out his hand in front of him.

“Do we have an Arrangement?”

Crowley shook his hand.

“I think we do. Now, would you like another glass?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. It took me absolutely _forever _to get this chapter to turn out how I wanted, but here it is at last!__  
>  2\. I have never been to Angers or Madrid (someday *wistful sigh*) or anywhere in England so all of my descriptions were based on what I could find online.  
> 3\. Pink Camellia in flower language is a symbol of longing for someone. Unfortunately for our favorite celestial and infernal beings, flower language had not been invented yet as of this point in history, so I invite you to assume that She was trying to send a message that they just couldn't read.  
> 4\. Thank you to everyone who has left comments and Kudos and who have stuck with the story so far. You guys mean the world to me!


	6. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down

**London, England, 1349 CE**

The air was thick and heavy with the smell of rotting corpses. It clung to one’s clothes and lingered in the nose and back of the throat, as if one could taste death. It was an odor that one could not escape no matter how hard they may try. Aziraphale had tried everything. Had tried to miracle away the smell, had stopped breathing entirely for a while, but nothing worked.

He couldn’t leave. Not now.

It was Pestilence’s work, Aziraphale knew. He had seen the horseman in the streets some years beforehand, radiating illness and disease. He had called it one if his “better works” and for the horseman this was true; the humans hadn’t known about it until people began to die off in mass numbers. They were still dying.

Heaven wouldn’t let him save everyone, in fact, they were overjoyed. With fear of the plague running rampant, the humans were flocking to churches and temples and mosques like had never been seen before. Thousands upon thousands of souls begging for forgiveness and salvation. Aziraphale had gone up to heaven, in the beginning of the epidemic, and had asked if he could save them, if he could help them find a cure. Gabriel had said no, had said that it was all part of the Great Plan and that the death of many would bring the salvation of others. Aziraphale had obeyed- for a while.

But Gabriel was not down there. Gabriel had not watched as the plague killed indiscriminately, taking every man, woman, and child. Gabriel had not heard the mothers scream as their children succumbed to the plague, had not watched them cradle their child’s lifeless body, knowing full well that they would be next. Gabriel had not seen the sunken faces of people who flocked to the taverns and bars to escape the pain and heartbreak through the bottom of a shot glass.

Aziraphale had been there for all of it. He had obeyed and he had listened until he could no longer. He may not have been allowed to save them, but he could give them peace and comfort in their final moments. He could put them to sleep, so they would pass on without a struggle. And, if he had to, he could move the bodies left in the streets, give the unremembered a proper burial, and hopefully lessen the spread of the disease. Aziraphale had been sent here to protect the humans, and no matter what, that was what he would do.

Aziraphale had been alone when it happened. He was walking through the (miraculously) clean backstreets to the flat he currently resided in when he heard it, the telltale cough from around the corner of a building. Aziraphale knew that cough, had heard hundreds of times before, and he knew what it meant: This one didn’t have much time left. Aziraphale readied himself to go help the poor human, preparing for the worst. He did not, however, expect someone to be there already.

“Please,” a child whimpered, closing his eyes and biting his lip, “it hurts.” He coughed, and blood dribbled down from his lips.

“I know dear, I know,” came a surprisingly tender voice from the man in front of him, “but I need you to be brave now, okay?”

Crowley was crouched down, one knee on the ground as he faced the boy, who was sitting up against a wall, head leaned back. Crowley gently cupped the boy’s face in one hand and ran his thumb over the boy’s forehead with the other.

“You will fall asleep,” Crowley whispered, “and dream of whatever it is you like best.” The boy relaxed, his shoulders slumping as he let out a deep sigh. Aziraphale watched the boy’s chest rise and fall three more times before stopping with a final, hollow exhale.

Crowley closed eyes, staying still for a moment before standing up and facing Aziraphale. Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak, but Crowley cut him off.

“Don’t. Don’t say anything.” Crowley said, his expression tense and nearly unreadable behind those glasses, before he softened. “Just- just walk with me, will you?” Aziraphale felt guilty, leaving the boy’s body in the streets, but, as if Crowley had read his mind, he waved his hand and the body disappeared.

Aziraphale scurried a bit to join Crowley, falling into step next to him. Neither of them said anything. There were some things that didn’t need to be said. Aziraphale had known Crowley for a long time, long enough to know that Crowley would speak when he was ready.

“Bloody hate this century.” Crowley muttered, keeping his gaze ahead of him.

Aziraphale hummed in agreement. They continued walking in silence. Crowley, Aziraphale noticed, was walking with far less of his usual swagger and instead was moving more stiffly, as if he was holding himself up by sheer force of will. Which- Aziraphale realized suddenly- he may very well have been doing. Aziraphale knew how much it took out of _him_ to do what he had been doing, and Crowley had always been less restrained than Aziraphale. He could only imagine how much Crowley had been exerting himself.

“Where are we going Crowley?” Aziraphale finally asked, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen between them. Crowley didn’t answer, just kept walking. “Crowley!” Aziraphale insisted. He grabbed Crowley’s wrist, pulling both of them to a halt. Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s hand, which was gripping his wrist like a vice, then looked back at Aziraphale with an expression that could have been shock or exhaustion or something else entirely.

“My dear boy, even I can tell you’re exhausted. You need to rest.”

“Ngk,”

“Do you have a flat here? Somewhere you can go? I personally don’t sleep, but I know you do, and if you need to you can-”

“I have a place,” Crowley interrupted, still not meeting Aziraphale’s gaze. “It’s not far from here.”

“Then I’ll take you there, just tell me where to go.” Aziraphale offered, dropping Crowley’s wrist and holding his arm out. Crowley took it, leaning on Aziraphale a bit as he guided them out of the backstreets and brought them uptown where the more upper-class people lived. They stopped in front of a large grey brick building with statues of angels on the columns.

“Is this it?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley nodded, still not moving. “Well then, I suppose I should get going ba-”

“Oh, just come inside already angel.” Crowley said, letting go of Aziraphale’s arm to open the door. Aziraphale could not help but feel a little bit disappointed at the sudden loss of contact. Ridiculous of course, but still, the feeling lingered as he followed Crowley inside

It was elegant, to say the least. Draped in brilliant reds and silver ornaments all around. The main room had two small and expensive black sofas with an equally expensive wooden table between them. On the other end of the room was a massive fireplace with a statue of two rearing cobras facing each other on top of it. Crowley _had_ always had a flair for the dramatic.

Crowley walked right into the room and fell on the couch with an audible sigh of relief.

“There's stuff for a caudle in the next room. Top right cupboard. Make yourself whatever you want.” Crowley said, gesturing vaguely towards another room. Aziraphale walked in the general direction that Crowley had pointed, letting his eyes wander over what he could see in the dimly lit room.

There was a rather large tapestry that caught his eye from down a hallway. It was a garden, beautiful and vibrant, filled with blooming flowers and lush green plants. A man and a woman were on the left side of it, the woman holding out an apple for the man to taste. It was a depiction of Eden, that much was obvious, but it wasn’t Adam and Eve that fascinated him. In the middle of the tapestry was a picture of a golden-haired angel facing a blooming apple tree. The angel had a sword hanging loosely from one hand as he looked up at a large black snake that was hanging from a branch of the tree. The snake appeared to be whispering in the angel’s ear. Aziraphale stared at the tapestry. Why on earth would Crowley have this? The only thing it could serve as was a painful reminder of the beginning, of when everything had started and gone wrong. Well, that’s what Aziraphale saw, for Crowley it might mean something entirely different- might be a reminder of his biggest success, or something along those lines. But then, why would Crowley have what appeared to be a depiction of Aziraphale in it? No matter, Aziraphale decided that it was not his place to judge or make assumptions about what Crowley decorated his home with.

When Aziraphale rejoined Crowley a few minutes later, two mugs of caudle in hand, he found the demon sleeping like the dead, still sprawled out in what must have been a very uncomfortable position. Aziraphale sat down on the sofa opposite him, placing the two mugs down in front of them. Aziraphale looked at Crowley, in his sleep, the demon was less harsh lines and sharp edges and more- well, not soft, but something akin to that. Crowley, Aziraphale realized with a start, must really trust him. Aziraphale now knew where he lived, and at the moment, Crowley was completely vulnerable. Any other angel would have taken advantage of the situation and smited Crowley already; but Aziraphale, well, he couldn’t imagine it. He knew that technically he was “consorting with the enemy” but Crowley _wasn’t_ the enemy, not any more. They were friends, they had an Arrangement. Granted, the Arrangement didn’t quite cover Aziraphale bringing Crowley home so that he wouldn’t discorporate due to exhaustion, but still. In all honesty, Aziraphale was awfully fond of Crowley. He had known the demon for millennia and he had seen him do bad things sure, but that was just business. Aziraphale had also seen Crowley trying to save the children during the flood, had watched with him as Jesus died on the cross, had held Aziraphale close before the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius. And now apparently Crowley was helping the humans the same way Aziraphale was. Aziraphale knew that Crowley was a demon, that he was supposed to be Evil Incarnate, but Crowley seemed to be still, ever so slightly, _good._ Crowley would never admit that, of course, if Aziraphale ever brought it up he would probably do something especially demonic to prove Aziraphale wrong. But the way Aziraphale saw it, Crowley was just not as evil as he believed he was.

Aziraphale stood up, using a small miracle to send the mugs back to the other room. He summoned a blanket from the ether and gently put it over Crowley, careful not to wake the sleeping demon. He hesitated for a moment, before leaning down and lightly touching Crowley’s hand.

“Sleep well, and dream of whatever it is you like best.” Aziraphale whispered, letting some of his power flow into his words.

Aziraphale stood up straight and walked to the door, sure that he had imagined hearing the soft _“zir’phale”_ as he gently closed the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Aziraphale, still a few steps behind Crowley...  
> 1) I spent a ludicrous amount of time researching medieval décor to try and make this as historically accurate as possible, and I STILL couldn't find out of tea was a thing in England in the 14th century, so I'm going to assume it was.  
> EDIT: It wasn't. Thank you to the lovely KannaOphelia for telling me that. And thank you to Brambles_and_Wine for commenting and giving me an accurate drink for the time period: caudle. A (usually) warm mix of wine or beer, oatmeal, eggs, sugar or honey, and various sweet spices.  
> 2) This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but I needed to get a few words in from Aziraphale's point of view, don't worry, the next chapter is going to be far longer. I'm super excited to get working on this next one, it's something I've been wanting to get to since I started writing this in the first place.  
> 3) I have to take my computer in for repairs (because its old and a mess) so I don't know exactly when said next chapter will be posted, but I will get it out as soon as I can.  
> 3) Thank you so much for all the support, you guys are so kind and I truly appreciate each and every one of you!


	7. Quedando con los ángeles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who is fluent in both English and Spanish, I couldn't resist throwing in a few phrases in Spanish. I would not recommend using something like google translate for said phrases, because some words have double meanings that a literal translator cannot interpret accurately.  
> I will provide translations in the end notes.  
> Just a bit of a teaser, the title means: _Staying with the angels ___

**Barcelona, Spain, 1495 CE**

Spain, well, to put it plainly- Spain was a disaster. Aziraphale hadn’t even been there a full day and he could already say that. 

It was beautiful, of course it was; the elaborate buildings and elegantly arranged flowers made the entire city look stunningly picturesque, like something out of a fine painting. But despite it’s obvious beauty, something about the city felt off. There was a sense of fear that lingered on every street and hid behind every corner, and Aziraphale could feel it _everywhere_. 

The strangest part was that the people were all walking about, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Aziraphale began to wonder how long they had been living with this fear that it had settled in their daily lives as a mere background feeling. 

Aziraphale wandered down the streets, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible while walking in no particular direction. He _did_ have a reason to be there: Gabriel had ordered he perform a blessing on a certain family, because apparently they were going to be important later on, but that wasn’t supposed to be for a few days. So, with nothing else to do for the moment, he let himself wander. 

Aziraphale loved being around the humans, he loved watching them in their everyday routines. They were always chasing something, whether it be money, happiness, love, or whatever else. They knew that they only had one chance, and they made the best of what they could with what they had, and Aziraphale admired them for that. 

Eventually, Aziraphale made it to the outskirts of the city. The sense of fear was stronger here, less of a background feeling and more all-encompassing. He could see the difference in the people here too. They were tired, many of them with bags under their eyes and wearing old dirty clothes. As he walked through, he noticed many people eyeing him suspiciously, _so much for blending in_. He looked down at his clothes, then looked at the people around him. He had to admit that he looked very different from the rest of them, his bright white and gold overgown a stark contrast to the muddled colors around him. Aziraphale sighed, there wasn’t much he could do about it now, not with all those people around him. He resigned himself to keep walking, noticing the way more and more people were staring at him. He passed a rather full looking tavern, and had decided it would probably be best to avoid it, given how many people were outright glaring at him now, when he found himself very suddenly distracted. 

“Azir’phale!” A drunken voice slurred. Aziraphale looked around, trying to figure out where the voice had come from. 

“Down ‘ere Azi- Az- angel!” Aziraphale cautiously stepped over to the edge of a nearby ditch where the voice seemed to be coming from. 

Crowley sat sprawled out at the bottom, a half-empty wine bottle in one hand and surrounded by dozens more. His normally sleek and fashionable black outfit was filthy and disheveled. His long curly hair was matted with twigs and leaves, and his glasses were crooked on his face, only barely hiding his eyes. 

“Crowley?” 

“Hey angel, care to join me for a drink?” 

“I think perhaps you’ve had too much already.” Crowley’s lips dropped to a fake pout. Aziraphale ignored it. “Crowley?” He asked, looking at the piles of wine bottles surrounding him, “How long have you been here?” 

Crowley began to count on his fingers, getting to four before making a confused face and starting over, and then seemingly getting distracted by his fingers, wiggling them around. 

“Hands are weird,” he said, flexing his fingers, “didn’t have these as a snake.” 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale tried again, “How long have you been here?” Crowley looked up, startled, as if he had forgotten Aziraphale was there. 

“A… week? Maybe? Ssomething like that.” 

Crowley had been like _this_ for a week? And that was _assuming_ Crowley was remembering everything correctly which- judging by his current _extremely_ inebriated state- he was not. Should he help? _Of course!_ Aziraphale thought, angry at his own hesitance, _He’s my friend._ Aziraphale looked at the demon, who was currently finishing the last of the wine bottle, before stepping down into the ditch. 

Crowley tilted his head back at a slightly inhuman angle to look up at Aziraphale. 

“Want sssome angel?” He offered, holding up the empty bottle. Aziraphale took it from Crowley’s hand and set it down out of Crowley’s immediate reach. 

“I think you’ve had quite enough of this, my dear.” Aziraphale held out his hand, “Please get up Crowley.” The demon looked at Aziraphale, and then dramatically layed back down, scattering some of the wine bottles. 

“Really, you’re being ridiculous.” 

“T’sss not ridiculousss if you’ve got a good reason.” 

“You really do need to get up.” Aziraphale insisted. There was a crowd beginning to form around them, probably wondering what all the fuss was about. 

Aziraphale sighed, defeated. “Well, if you aren’t going to get up willingly, I’m afraid I will have to make you, before you do anything idiotic.” 

Crowley tried for what Aziraphale assumed was supposed to be a seductive smirk, but all he succeeded in doing was looking more intoxicated. “You think you can _make_ me- uhg!” 

Whatever Crowley had been about to say was abruptly cut off by Aziraphale, who had leaned down suddenly, grabbed Crowley from beneath his shoulders and hoisted him up to a standing position. Aziraphale stepped back slightly, grabbing Crowley’s upper arm to steady the demon, who had turned a rather bright shade of red. 

“Now then,” Aziraphale said, letting go of Crowley and brushing the dirt off his shirt. “Do you think we can get going?” 

“Ngk,” Crowley managed to take one step forward before his legs collapsed underneath him. Aziraphale lunged forward to catch him. This time, instead of letting go once he thought Crowley was stable, he pulled one of Crowley’s arms over his shoulder and wrapped one arm around the demon’s waist. 

“Let’s try this again now, shall we?” 

They walked- well, walking was an overstatement. Aziraphale mostly dragged Crowley out of the gutter and onto the street, sending the crowd away with a small miracle (“There was a demon around.” Aziraphale would later say to Gabriel, “I had to send the humans away so he wouldn’t tempt them.) 

“Sssshowoff,” muttered Crowley, squeezing Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

Aziraphale began to lead Crowley- somewhere. Aziraphale didn’t have any place, he hadn’t even been there for a day and Crowley, well, Crowley probably couldn’t remember where he was now, let alone where he was supposed to be staying. 

“Where’re we going _cielito_ _mío_ _?”_

“Somewhere where _you_ can get some rest.” 

“Back to yours?” Crowley suggested. He turned his face to Aziraphale, whispering in a low tone, “¿ _Voy_ _a_ _dormir_ _con un ángel?”_

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you are saying.” Which was true. Apparently Crowley had been here long enough to pick up the local dialect, whereas Aziraphale certainly had not. Crowley tilted his head back and groaned. 

“You never do angel.” He muttered. 

What on earth was _that_ supposed to mean? 

Aziraphale guided them to the nearest inn he could find where (miraculously) a room had just opened up. The poor woman at the counter was utterly confused by Aziraphale, who was speaking in multiple different languages that she did not understand, and by Crowley, who was talking very loudly in a language that she _could_ understand, and was not making any sense. Aziraphale thanked the woman profusely as she handed him the keys. Aziraphale dragged Crowley to the room, the demon continuing to mutter in Spanish. 

The room was small and simple, a single straw mattress on one wall and a desk and chair underneath a window on the other. 

Crowley, for the first time in twenty minutes, was silent as he took in the room. He pulled his arm off of Aziraphale’s shoulder and Aziraphale released his grip on Crowley’s waist. 

The lack of contact, however, did not last long. Upon being released from Aziraphale’s grasp, Crowley immediately turned around and threw his arms around Aziraphale’s neck, leaning in close to whisper in Aziraphale’s ear. 

_“Mi ángel_ _valiente_ _y_ _fuerte_ _,_ _viniendo_ _a_ _rescatarme_ _.”_ Aziraphale felt his cheeks flush, even though he wasn’t sure why. 

“That is quite enough of that now.” Crowley backed up, dropping his arms from Aziraphale’s neck. He turned around, throwing his glasses on the floor as he fell onto the bed. Crowley crossed his legs and put one arm underneath his head, laying on his side so he could face Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale sighed, pulling out the chair from the desk and sat down facing Crowley. 

“What has gotten into you Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, “Why are you… like _this?_ ” Crowley muttered something that Aziraphale couldn’t make out. “What?” 

“The bloody Inquisition!” Crowley said, his voice raised. 

_Ah, that_. 

Aziraphale had heard rumors, of course, but he had been working in a library in Turkey for the past few years and had thought it was just that- rumors. But- if it was enough to dive Crowley to this? How bad was it? And why had he not heard anything more? 

“Start from the beginning,” Aziraphale said after a minute, “tell me everything.” 

Crowley smirked at him, “ _Well,_ I was a rather dashing serpent and-” 

“You know what I mean Crowley.” Aziraphale interrupted.” 

Crowley’s face fell from its joking smirk to something far more serious. 

“I’ve been here a while, yeah? Not doing too much, mostly hanging ‘round the nice parts. These upper-class Spaniards really know how to throw a party. So, I was just sort of there, doing some small little temptations, not that I needed to work hard though, these people, all they need is a little push towards-” 

“Crowley,” 

“Right, right, anyways I was just sort of _there_ right? Suddenly I’m holding a large black folder and everything smells like sulfur. I open it, because if it’s a message from Down There I really can’t afford not to, and inside is a _commendation_ from Dagon for “ _The Spanish Inquisition”_ they called it. They said I had brought them loads of souls. And there I am, and I haven’t even heard of the thing, mind you. 

“So, I decide “hey, might as well check it out, see what I’m getting credit for.’” Crowley shuddered, closing his eyes before speaking again. 

“Not even Hell does stuff quite like that.” Crowley’s voice was quiet and he closed his eyes tighter, shaking his head as if he were trying to erase the memory. 

“Wanna know the best part?” Crowley asked after a moment, his voice heavy. 

“It’s not even technically _our_ people who are doing it.” Crowley sat up suddenly, staring directly into Aziraphale’s eyes. “They’re all _yours._ So they say. The priests and the judges and everyone. They’re all saying that- that they’re doing it for Her.” 

_How was he supposed to respond to that?_ Heaven hadn’t said anything about it, and he was _sure_ they would have told him about something like this. They always had before. But, here was Crowley, drunk out of his mind and obviously upset about this. Proof that something horrible was happening. 

“This- this isn’t one of mine, Crowley.” 

“Well I know that it wasn’t you _specifically,_ I can always tell when you’ve been doing work, the whole area just _radiates_ goodness whenever you’re doing something. But they do seem sure that they are doing God’s work.” 

Once again, Aziraphale didn’t know what to say. Humans had always said strings like that, justifying their atrocities by claiming that God told them to do it, and it was nearly always false (nothing like that had _actually_ been Her direct orders since biblical times). Aziraphale could argue that point, it he had a feeling it wouldn’t do any good. It would just upset Crowley even more. 

“I’m sorry.” He said at last, for lack of anything else to say. He stood up and walked towards the door, fully intending to leave, when suddenly there was a hand on his wrist, effectively stopping him in his tracks. 

"Don’t go, not yet.” Crowley’s voice was barely a whisper behind him. 

Decades later, when Aziraphale asked Crowley about what had happened next, Crowley had responded with something along the lines of: “I was so wasted angel, I don’t quite remember. More wine?” But Aziraphale was fairly certain he was lying. Because while it was obvious that Crowley was still incredibly intoxicated, when Aziraphale turned around to face him, the demon’s eyes were somehow both soul-piercing and soft, and Aziraphale had no doubt that he knew exactly what he was doing. Crowley stepped forward slowly, releasing Aziraphale’s wrist and winding his arms around the angel’s waist. He gently pulled Aziraphale closer, pulled Aziraphale right up against him, burying his face in Aziraphale’s neck.

Aziraphale stood, momentarily frozen, before wrapping his arms around Crowley.

They stood there, for how long neither knew. All Aziraphale could say was this: as they stood there together, Crowley wrapped around him like a snake, Aziraphale felt a surge of- _something_ , sudden and white hot in his chest, something that he _really_ shouldn’t name. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, translation time.  
>  _cielito mío _\- literal translation is "my little sky," but it is more commonly used to mean "my little piece of heaven"__  
>  _"¿Voy a dormir con un ángel?" _\- "am I going to sleep with an angel?" I couldn't resist putting it in here.__  
>  _Mi ángel valiente y fuerte, viniendo a rescatarme. _\- my brave strong angel, coming to rescue me.__  
>  1) I have been waiting to write this chapter since I started the fic, and I am quite happy with how it came out.  
> 2) Thank you all so much for leaving kudos and leaving such kind comments. You guys are the best!  
> <3


	8. Thus from my lips, by yours, my son is purged

** The Globe Theatre, London, 1597 CE **

Not one demon, not even Lucifer himself could have thought up a torture quite like this. 

“Oh, you simply must come with me to see this new play. I’ve heard it’s supposed to be  _ marvelous.” _ Aziraphale had said over dinner. Crowley hadn’t quite wanted to go, but Aziraphale- bless him- had stared at Crowley with those beautiful blue eyes and Crowley couldn’t be expected to say no to him then, now could he? 

Which is how Crowley ended up seated next to the angel on the balcony of the theater watching what felt like a personal mockery. 

> “If I profane with my unworthiest hand
> 
> This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this
> 
> My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
> 
> To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

Crowley bit his lip, pointedly  _ not _ looking at Aziraphale. Not looking at how the angel was leaning on the edge of his seat. Juliet was talking now; he should probably be paying attention.

> “For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,
> 
> And palm to palm is holy palmers kiss.”

They were close together, closer than normal, although that wasn’t saying much. Aziraphale’s hand was right next to his, all it would take would be for Crowley to shift his little finger, not even an inch, and their hands would be touching. Crowley could make it look like an accident, like something that just happened. Or, if he wanted to, he could move just slightly, and cover the angel’s hand with his own.  _ Would Aziraphale pull away? _ Crowley thought, looking at the slight distance between their hands.  _ Or would he let it happen? _

> “Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.”

The voice brought Crowley back to reality. His sin couldn’t be purged. It would never go away, foolish to even think about it. Crowley forced himself to focus on the actors onstage and- oh. They were kissing now.  _ Actually _ kissing, that was surprising. Normally actors wouldn’t kiss like that; they would put their thumbs up so their lips wouldn’t touch, or they would turn away from the audience and pretend. Apparently, this was  _ not _ the case here, given as the actors were snogging on stage. 

> “Then have my lips the sin that they have took.”
> 
> “Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged
> 
> Give me my sin again.”

Oh, more kissing.  _ Great _ . He glanced over at Aziraphale, admittedly curious to see what the angel was thinking. He was leaned forward as far as he could on the balcony, utterly captivated by the play. He looked happy and almost wistful as the couple on stage pulled apart. Crowley really should be paying more attention. Aziraphale will want to talk about it later, and what would he say then:  _ “Sorry angel, I wasn’t paying attention to the play because watching you was far more entertaining.” _ Never going to happen.

Romeo was clutching his hand over his heart, doing a very good job of looking like he was pain.

> “my life is my foe’s debt!”

_ Bless it all. _ Of all of Shakespeare’s plays, why on earth did Aziraphale ask him to see this one? It could have been one of the funny ones where they could both enjoy themselves. But no, it  _ had _ to be a bloody tragic romance where they already knew that both of them were going to die. 

_ Watch the sodding play. _

With extreme effort, Crowley forced himself to watch the stage, all the while fully aware of every sharp inhale that Aziraphale took, every time he moved forward to see more. 

Crowley stifled a groan when Romeo reappeared onstage with his friends. He really was an idiot. It takes more than a day to fall in love, or rather it took a day to happen and a thousand or so years to realize it. 

Crowley watched Romeo sneak into the garden, only to find Juliet changing in her room.  _ Okay, now that’s just creepy. _ Crowley thought, glaring at the actor.  _ I’m a _ demon  _ and I know that’s weird. _

And now he was monologuing, great. Crowley was sure that it would have been beautiful had it not felt like each word was attacking him personally.

> “O, it is my love!
> 
> O, that she knew she were!”

This was it. This was how Crowley would die. It would be kinder for Her to just smite him already. He dug his fingernails into his palm, resisting the urge to make Romeo trip and fall off the stage. He didn’t think Aziraphale would like that very much. 

> “Two of the fairest stars in all of heaven do entreat her eyes.
> 
> To twinkle in their spheres till they return.”

_ No, I made the stars, I don’t remember giving them to him. _ But nevertheless, there they were. Aziraphale’s eyes shone in the torchlight, showing a thousand emotions that Crowley couldn’t read. He was so damn beautiful.

> “O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
> 
> As glorious to this night, being o’er my head
> 
> As is a winged messenger of heaven.”

_ Angel. _ Crowley had always called him that, since the beginning. At first it was to remind him that they were on opposite sides, that they shouldn’t get too close. But as the years went on, it became something different. Less of a statement and more of an…endearment, he supposed. He knew what the humans thought whenever he called Aziraphale that, in fact, he enjoyed it when they were mistaken for a couple. It had happened very rarely, but every time Aziraphale turned bright red and began to sputter, speaking about how they were “ _ not _ involved with each other in any way other than business thank you very much.” It was hilarious how flustered he got.

Juliet was speaking now, talking about how it was not  _ Romeo _ who she hated, but the name tied to it. How she would leave her family to be with him.

> “’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;”

Aziraphale stiffened suddenly, sitting up straight as his eyes remained glued to the stage. Crowley saw Aziraphale bite his lip as Juliet continued speaking about how she would leave her family for Romeo. Honestly, that was a terrible idea, she’d only met him once.

Romeo stepped out of the shadows and they finally began to speak to each other. All mushy love confessions and Romeo basically making an idiot of himself trying to prove to Juliet that he loves her. But that girl was smart, Crowley began to realize as he slowly became enwrapped in the play. She knew that Romeo would say whatever he thought he needed to say to make Juliet love him, so she used that to have him make a promise to her. Clever girl, she would have done well with Crowley’s lot. 

The scene ended and there was a break where the audience began to talk again. Aziraphale sighed and relaxed again.

“All right there angel?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale jumped, as if he had forgotten Crowley was there.

“Quite fine, quite fine.” He rushed, “This is lovely is it not? The two star-crossed lovers and all that.”

“Sure, but you better not get too attached to them, we already know they don’t make it.”

“Yes, I know, but I can’t help it. Two people coming together despite their differences because they love each other? It’s beautiful.”

“They’ve only just met. How can they love each other already? I’m calling it normal teenage lust.” Aziraphale elbowed him in the side. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something to argue with him, but the actors came back onstage and the play continued. 

Crowley found himself sucked into the play as Romeo schemed to marry Juliet in secret using all sorts of complicated ways and using lots of messengers. They got married successfully somehow and managed to do it without anyone finding out, which was rather impressive given that they were both being quite stupid. 

But the fighting finally came along and ruined everything. Crowley had known it was going to happen, they had straight up told them, but he had not been expecting two people to die and then have Romeo be exiled. He felt a bit bad for Juliet. Only married for an hour and the one she loves betrays her and murders her cousin. Certainly, her family would be more important to her than someone she just met.

> “O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, and caught the angel staring at him. They held each other’s gaze for a moment, before quickly looking away.

> “A damned saint, an honourable villain! O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell, When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In moral paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book containing such vile matter So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace”

Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath. Crowley glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Aziraphale was not looking at the stage, but was instead looking at where Crowley’s hand rested on the bench next to him. Aziraphale must think that he was all of those things. He was a demon after all, but it didn’t hurt any less, especially not as Juliet went on to forgive Romeo regardless.

The play just grew darker and darker after that. Crowley found his attention entirely on the play as everything spiraled out of control. Juliet’s plan really was quite brilliant, and everything would have worked out just fine had Romeo’s messenger not jumped to conclusions and gotten there before the priest did. And Romeo, in his idiotic mind, thought it was necessary to kill himself because Juliet was dead. So, in he went, rushing like a fool, noticing all these things that had he actually taken the time to think he would have realized that Juliet was still alive. 

> “Thus with a kiss, I die.”

_ Well that was dramatic. _

Juliet appeared to have lost her senses as well, because she decides to kill herself too. He had known from the beginning that they were going to die, but he hadn’t thought that it would be quite like that.

“What did you think of it?” Aziraphale asked him as they were leaving the theater 

“I don’t like the gloomy ones.” Crowley muttered, Aziraphale glared at him. “Alright, here’s what I think. I think that this was the story of two children who mistook lust for love and then, instead of thinking about anything they both killed themselves. I mean, if Romeo had just let himself mourn for a few more minutes everything would have been fine, but he had to go in without thinking and mess it all up for both of them.” Aziraphale gave him a curious look, tilting his head to the side. 

“You don’t defy everything you’ve ever known for mere lust Crowley. That only happens when there is love.”

“Despite what your books may say, it takes more than a day to fall in love angel.” Crowley froze, realizing what he had just said. He was suddenly grateful for the glasses currently hiding his eyes.

“And what would you know about falling in love, Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice had turned soft and sharp.

“Nothing,” Crowley shrugged, trying play it off as nonchalance. “I’m just assuming.” Aziraphale didn’t answer. “I did enjoy it though- the play I mean.” Crowley stuttered, trying to ease the tension that had suddenly fallen between the two of them. “But next time, I'm choosing what we see”

“Next time?” Aziraphale asked, his lips turning upward in a half-smile. 

“Next time.” Crowley confirmed. “I still prefer the funny ones.”

Aziraphale laughed, and Crowley felt his heart leap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just write an entire chapter where Crowley compares himself to Romeo and Aziraphale to Juliet? Yes. This idea has been stuck in my head for weeks and I am so happy to finally have been able to write it. I actually had a hand-written list of all the reasons Crowley was like Romeo and just sort of threw them together until a thing happened.  
> 1) All quotes (including the chapter title) are taken from Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet. _The most overrated play by far but it is _perfect _to use as a comparison when you want a character to be pining over someone.____  
>  2) If you are as desperate for content as I am, please check out my new (and completely self indulgent) one shot: [We Should Kiss Like Real People Do](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20446289)  
> 3) Thank you to all my lovely readers. Your continuing support means the world to me!


	9. All the sins you have never had the courage to commit

**London, England, 1899**

_Aziraphale stepped towards him, holy light glinting in his eyes._

_“Angel?” Crowley had never been afraid of Aziraphale per-se. Aware that the angel could smite him whenever he felt like it, yes- but never afraid. Until now; Aziraphale stepped towards him and Crowley was frozen in place under the holy stare. Everything seemed far away somehow, both there and not there. Aziraphale reached his hand up and cupped Crowley’s face, running a finger over his tattoo. He leaned forward and gently brushed his lips over Crowley’s in a whisper of a kiss. Crowley leaned forward, trying to-_

_The ground dropped from underneath him and suddenly he was in heaven. The battle was raging around him and everywhere he looked angels and demons were dying in blazes of holy light or hellfire. Aziraphale stood facing him, flaming sword in his hand and looking every bit the soldier Crowley forgot he was. Aziraphale looked at the sword in his hand, as if it were foreign to him. He dropped the sword and ran to Crowley, wrapping him in a tight embrace. Crowley buried his face in the angel’s curls, pulling Aziraphale up against him. Aziraphale lifted his head and looked at Crowley, his brilliant blue eyes panicked._

_“Crowley I-”_

_Crowley was helpless to do anything as Aziraphale stiffened, pain creeping onto his face as he went limp, the light draining from his eyes. Crowley fell to his knees as Aziraphale lay dying in his arms._

_“Aziraphale, angel please, tell me what to do.”_

_“Crowley-”_

_Aziraphale gripped his shirt, clinging onto him with all the energy he had left. Crowley was forced to watch as Aziraphale sighed one last time, as he released his grip on Crowley’s shirt. Holy light enveloped Aziraphale, consuming what remained of the angel and Crowley was_ burning. _The holy light destroying his essence from the inside out. He leaned forward, cradling the remains of the angel’s body in his arms as the light kept burning, burning-_

Crowley shot awake, a silent scream in the back of his throat. It took him a moment to catch his bearings, to realize that he was not burning, that Aziraphale was not dead in his arms. He closed his eyes, trying to control his racing heartbeat. Really, these human bodies could be horribly inconvenient. He opened his eyes after a few minutes, taking in the room around him. He was alone, in the bedroom in his flat, the heavy black curtains blocking making the room almost pitch black.

Crowley pushed the sheets off and stood up, walking over to the curtains. He pulled them back and looked outside. It looked like it was summer now, odd, since Crowley could have sworn there was snow on the ground when he went to sleep. He turned back to the room, noticing the layer of dust that had accumulated on every surface, and then disappeared as soon as Crowley glared at it.

He examined his flat meticulously, making sure that it had remained _exactly_ the same way as it was when he had slept, and it had. (Not that Crowley had expected anything less.) The food was still good and the lamps were still full, lighting themselves as Crowley passed. After everything had been inspected and found to his liking, Crowley went to the nearest window and watched as people passed on the street. He inspected the men’s clothes and miracled something he liked; A dark red coat with black accented lapels and sleeves, a black button up shirt, and well-fitting black trousers. Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he opened up the door from his flat for the first time in who knows how long, and found the area much the same as when he had last seen it. There was more smoke in the air- presumably from more factories. That in itself wasn’t surprising, what was surprising was the way that ash seemed to coat the city in a grey fog. The humans really had gotten quite carried away, hadn’t they?

Crowley bought a paper from the boy on the corner, absentmindedly handing over the coins as he inspected the date: June 12, 1899.

He had been asleep for _thirty-seven_ years.

_Well,_ he thought, looking at the people around him, _that explains a lot._

His argument with Aziraphale about the Holy Water had left him alone in the park, feeling very angry and very stupid.

_“It would destroy you. I’m not bringing you a suicide pill Crowley.”_

As if that’s what he had wanted it for. Really, Aziraphale ought to have known him better than that. He liked earth, liked it better than hell or what he could remember of heaven. There was really no reason he would turn it on himself. Aziraphale was being an idiot.

_“I don’t need you.”_

Crowley had said that. He had been so angry, so frustrated, it just- slipped out. He hadn’t meant it, of course he hadn’t, but Aziraphale had thought he did. As if hanging around the angel for almost six thousand years didn’t mean anything.

Crowley had returned to his flat and gone to sleep so as to not deal with it.

Not all of his dreams had been as unpleasant as the last one.

_Aziraphale_. He wondered where he was now. Probably off doing miracles and blessings and getting commendations for good work. Did he miss Crowley? It had been almost forty years, and granted- they had gone longer without seeing each other, but they had never left on an argument like that. Not without closure a few weeks or months or maybe even a few year later. And Crowley had never just disappeared like that. It was that thought that solidified Crowley’s decision. He would go find out what Aziraphale was up to these days, after all, it had been a few decades. He couldn’t still be upset about the whole Holy Water thing, now could he?

Aziraphale was surprisingly easy to find.

All it had taken was a quick visit to the bookshop (closed, as he had expected. But Aziraphale had given him an open invitation to the shop for “whenever he wanted,” and Crowley assumed the offer still applied). The door had automatically unlocked itself for Crowley as he opened the reached for the handle and stepped inside. The familiar musty scent of dust and old books wafted over him, and he stopped for a moment to breathe it in before continuing to the back room.

There was something…off, about the bookshop when Aziraphale wasn’t there. It felt incomplete and empty, despite literally every surface being covered with books. He couldn’t explain it. No matter, he would be seeing Aziraphale soon enough.

He found what he was looking for on Aziraphale’s desk. An open letter addressed to a Mr. A. Z. Fell. Crowley picked it up, examining the clean-typed words; it was a bill for a gentleman’s club. That wasn’t by itself unusual, they had both been members of various clubs and organizations over the years (both of them had taken credit for the Freemasons). Crowley kept reading the letter, perfectly content that he had found out where Aziraphale was, until he read the signature at the bottom.

Crowley’s jaw dropped.

_The Hundred Guineas Club_.

Aziraphale was at the Hundred Guineas Club. Even Crowley had heard of that one. It had a reputation for being the most exclusive- and expensive- clubs in London, and for being something of an extremely done-up molly house. Crowley had only heard rumors of the things that went on in there, he had never been to the club himself. But if Aziraphale was there… well, he thought it might be time to check it out.

He bought his way into the club without a problem (one of the perks of being on earth for millennia, income gathers. And even when it doesn’t, he could just miracle it up). He gave his most charming smile to the young secretary, who turned pink.

“Now,” he drawled, letting a little bit of temptation slip into his voice, “would you mind telling me where I can find Mr. Fell? I haven’t seen him in an _awfully_ long time.”

The boy pointed down a hall, “I- I think he’s in the main parlor with some of the others. They always meet there after the dancing lessons are done.” _Aziraphale? Dancing lessons?_ This just kept getting better and better. Crowley thanked the boy and turned down the hall he had pointed to.

He passed quite a few men in women’s clothes and was absolutely disgusted- the styles were hideous! They had no sense of fashion, Crowley could have done so much better, especially with the long skirts and petticoats he had seen some of the women wearing.

“Mr. Hughes, I am flattered, but I am not interested.”

“Don’t be like that Mr. Fell, it’s just a drink.”

“And I have already said that I do not think I will have one tonight.”

The conversation brought Crowley out of his momentary distraction. Crowley would know that voice anywhere.

Crowley sauntered into the parlor and the chatter in the room stopped, other than Aziraphale and the man in front of him, who was leaning towards the angel quite threateningly.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale stopped talking and immediately turned towards him.

_“Crowley.”_ He sighed, effectively shutting up the man in front of him, who was trying not to stare at Crowley. Crowley ignored him, too focused on Aziraphale. His face went through a multitude of expressions: confusion, relief, joy, before settling on a cross between anger and…something else.

“Hello Aziraphale, is this where you’ve been all these years?”

“Where _I’ve_ been?” Aziraphale practically growled, his face turning red. “You’re the one who up and left after the Hol- the whole incident and didn’t come back. Do you know how worried I was?”

Crowley was momentarily taken aback. _Aziraphale had worried about him?_ Before Crowley could respond, the man who had been talking to Aziraphale seemed to recover.

“Excuse me sir, I was just having a conversation with Mr. Fell here, and I must insist you go elsewhere.” Crowley glared at the man, letting a bit of demonic fear radiate off of him.

“Hughes, is it?” Crowley sauntered forwards, wrapping one arm around Aziraphale’s waist. Hughes nodded; eyes wide.

“Well then _Hughes,_ ” Crowley said the name like a curse, “I suggest you learn to take no for an answer, and get your eyes off. My. Angel.”

Hughes glared at Crowley before stomping off in the other direction. As soon as he left the parlor Aziraphale pulled himself out of Crowley’s grip, turning and facing Crowley with his arms clenched in fists at his side.

Crowley went to speak again but Aziraphale cut him off, waving one finger in the air.

“No. You have been gone for _years._ You do not get to disappear after asking _that_ of me, and then just come sauntering in, acting as if everything’s fine and calling me angel.” Aziraphale was proper red now, and Crowley could feel anger radiating off of him. The rest of the patrons were quiet, staring at Aziraphale in shock. Which was understandable, Crowley had very rarely seen Aziraphale ever get this mad. Crowley stepped forward, trying not to break under the angel’s rage-filled stare. He gently picked up one of Aziraphale’s hands cradling it between his own. Aziraphale’s expression of rage melted away as he looked at Crowley; the anger wasn’t quite gone, but it was lessened, replaced with shock and relief.

“We’ll have this discussion, yes. But not here an- Aziraphale.” Crowley leaned in to whisper in Aziraphale’s ear, fully conscious of the jealous stares he was earning. “Too many people. Don’t want them getting the wrong idea.” Aziraphale looked around, as if just now realized how many men were staring at them. He smirked, and Crowley was suddenly reminded just how much of a bastard Aziraphale could be when he wanted to. He leaned forward and whispered into Crowley’s ear, dropping his voice.

“Actually, I think the wrong idea might be exactly what they need. So as to stop any more… situations like this one.” He pulled away, his face a mask of innocence.

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale set his hands on Crowley’s chest, leaning on him slightly. “I apologize for overreacting like that. It is _ever_ so nice to see you again.” He ran one hand down Crowley’s lapel, “I have missed you with every fiber of my being.”

Crowley could feel his face turning red. _Bless him!_ Why did Aziraphale have to be good at this?

Aziraphale continued speaking, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, and I’ve been going out of my mind with worry.”

“I never meant to worry you, angel.” Crowley pleaded, allowing himself to wrap his arms around Aziraphale’s neck. He knew he was overdoing it a bit, but he _was_ being honest.

“I know, but I can’t help it.” _Oh. He’s really going all out for this._ Crowley thought as Aziraphale _somehow_ managed to take a step closer and dropped his hand from Crowley’s chest to his waist.

“How about I try and make it up to you?” Crowley asked, bringing the temptation back into his voice. If Aziraphale was going to do this to him he might as well try and have some fun with it.

“What do you have in mind?”

Crowley leaned forward to whisper in Aziraphale’s ear, his lips just barely grazing Aziraphale’s cheek as he spoke.

“Crêpes. Wherever you want.” He moved back and saw that Aziraphale’s eyes had lit up.

“Then I think we should get going. Besides,” Aziraphale said, that bastardish smirk on his lips, “I think you owe me a bit more than that in this case.”

Crowley winked, hoping that his face was not as red as he thought it was. “Lead the way, _angel.”_ He dropped his arms from Aziraphale’s neck, letting them fall to his sides. Aziraphale removed his hand from Crowley’s waist (he didn’t know whether he felt relieved or disappointed about that) but instead of dropping his hand to his side as Crowley had done, he instead grabbed Crowley’s hand and began to lead him out of the room.

As soon as they stepped out of the main parlor there was an explosion of noise, and Crowley could quite clearly hear someone yell out _“Jefferies, Archer, Jones, you all owe me ten quid. I told you he was holding out for somebody.”_ Crowley really wanted to hear the details of _that_ , but Aziraphale was still leading him by the hand and there was _no way in hell_ that he was going to do anything to make him stop _._

Aziraphale led him to a back room that reeked of sweat and expensive cologne (and something else that Crowley deliberately chose to ignore). Aziraphale dropped Crowley’s hand (much to his disappointment) and snapped his fingers, closing the door behind them. He turned around and shot Crowley with a sharp look.

“Are you going to tell me where you have been for the past thirty-seven years.”

“What?” Crowley was still a bit flustered, and it took him a moment to process what Aziraphale had said. “Er- I was- that is to say I was-”

“You were?”

“I was asleep.” Crowley muttered, looking down at his shoes.

“Asleep? For _thirty-seven_ years?” Aziraphale exclaimed.

“Yes.” Crowley admitted.

“I wasn’t lying in there, you know. I was concerned about you. I was afraid you had gone off and done something stupid and gotten yourself in trouble downstairs.”

“I meant what I said, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“But really Crowley, for you to ask that of me-”

“Drop it Aziraphale. You gave me your answer, and I’m not going to press it.” Crowley was trying very hard to keep his voice calm. He didn’t want to fight, he just wanted to spend some time with Aziraphale. The angel sighed, all the frustration melting off his face as he smiled softly at Crowley.

“I think you said something about crêpes,”

Crowley laughed, “Anywhere you want angel.” He backed up and opened the door with a mocking bow, gesturing outward. “Lead the way,”

They walked out of the club side by side. The secretary at the door stared at them,

“Mr. Fell? I mean- have a nice day Mr. Fell.”

Crowley could _feel_ the blessing that Aziraphale sent towards the man as they passed him.

“Have a good day Michael, and good luck with your young man.”

_That was odd_ , Crowley thought as they left the club. _Using a blessing that openly and- oh!_ Crowley remembered how despite the fact that pretty much everyone knew what went on in the club, the police hardly ever investigated it, remembered the way the younger men especially had looked so shocked to see Aziraphale so angry, the way the room immediate gossip that had erupted the moment he and Aziraphale had left the parlor, _“I told you he was holding out for someone!.”_ As if Aziraphale leaving with someone was something that never-

“You’re protecting them, aren’t you?” Crowley muttered, not bothering to hide the slight grin that had slipped onto his face. Aziraphale was silent, and Crowley couldn’t help the overwhelming wave of fondness that swept over him. _Still an angel. Always doing what he thought was best, even at the behest of the law._

“What _are_ you grinning at?” Aziraphale said, a bit huffily.

“Nothing, nothing.” Crowley tried to bring himself back together, “Now, what have you been up to these past few decades, angel? Without any _demonic wiles_ to thwart.”

“Well, I met this lovely chap named Oscar Wilde.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is wearing a historically accurate version of [this](https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/837317755701241057)  
> 1) This slow burn is killing me, and I'm the one writing it, so take some angst, fake relationship(ish), and slight but of fluff. Plus my personal headcannon that Aziraphale is the Guardian Angel/Protector of the Queer Folk.  
> 2) Chapter title from The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde. The full quote is:  
>  _Yes, Dorian, you will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you have never had the courage to commit. ___  
> 3) This took forever to publish, but it was SO fun to write, and I hope you enjoyed it. (As a teaser for the next chapter, it's saved on my laptop as: The One Where We Finally Hit The "Mutual" Part Of Mutual Pining.)  
>  4) I changed the description for the fic slightly because I never quite liked the old one, and at least this one is slightly better.  
> 5) Thank you so much for your continuous support, you guys are the best and I love hearing from you.


	10. It's not a cry you can hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light

Aziraphale was trying very hard not to go into a state of complete panic.

_Crowley._ He had- he had remembered, had saved-

_“Little demonic miracle of my own.”_

The books. The books that meant nothing to Crowley. The books that Aziraphale had collected and guarded for centuries. Aziraphale had forgotten them, had been so wrapped up in the rush of the double cross, and the sudden appearance of Crowley, and summoning the energy required to perform a real miracle to save them. Aziraphale’s only thoughts at the moment had been something along the lines of: _he’s here and he is_ not _allowed to discorporate yet._ (He would later wonder _why_ it was that his only thoughts at that moment had been about saving Crowley, but that was something to worry about later.)

Aziraphale followed Crowley to the curb of the street, carefully stepping over the rubble of the wrecked church. Crowley was leaning back against a large black car, arms crossed and peering at Aziraphale over the edge of his glasses with a slightly smug grin on his face. He spread his arms as Aziraphale approached.

“So? What do you think?”

_I think I’m-_ no. He couldn’t say it, he could hardly wrap his head around it.

“That’s…new” Aziraphale managed, sure that his face was turning pink.

“Only new to _you_ angel, 1926 Bentley. Beautiful isn’t it?”

“Erm- yes, that is to say- quite lovely.” Crowley stared at him, raising one eyebrow in a perfect arch.

“You all right there Aziraphale? You’re looking kind of…off. Did some of the rubble hit your head or something?”

“No, no. I’m perfectly alright. Positively chipper.” Aziraphale said, forcing a smile onto his face. Crowley stared at him for another minute before shaking his head slightly and opening the door, gesturing inside with a mocking bow.

“Well, get in angel. I’m taking you for a ride.” Crowley winked and Aziraphale was _positive_ he was blushing now.

He was in so much trouble.

Crowley drove him back to the bookshop, all the while talking about his car and how wonderful it was. He vaguely thought he heard Crowley call it his "pride and joy" at one point, but Aziraphale was too stuck in his own head to pay proper attention. He kept replaying the scene: books, double-cross, Crowley, bomb, books, _Crowley_. Music played softly through the speakers while Crowley continued talking, distracting Aziraphale slightly; the soft lilting violins of _Lacrimosa_ fluttering all too much like his ever-increasing heartbeat. Crowley pulled over in front of the shop and got out of the car first so he could open the door for Aziraphale. Aziraphale stepped out slowly, his hands fidgeting with the handle on the bag.

“Crowley I- that is to say-”

“Yes angel?” Crowley had tipped his glasses down, letting Aziraphale see his eyes. Aziraphale had always thought Crowley’s eyes were interesting, beautiful even, but he suddenly realized how _utterly_ stunning they were. Slowly, before Aziraphale could think the better of it, he reached out and grabbed Crowley’s wrist. Crowley stiffened, breathing in sharply.

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale said softly. He met Crowley’s eyes holding his gaze for a moment before turning around and walking into the bookshop as quickly as he could without outright running, leaving Crowley staring after him on the curb of the road.

The door closed behind him, locking automatically as he made his way to the back room. He set the bag of books down on the desk and snapped his fingers to make a cup of tea appear next to the bag. Aziraphale was fully aware that he was going to need to explain to Gabriel why there had been a sudden increase in miracles today, but he wasn’t going to think about that now. He needed something to settle his nerves, and the familiar warmth comforted him slightly as he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of chamomile before taking a sip and then setting the cup down on the desk. He eyed the bag warily reaching to open the clasps that was holding it closed, and then pulled his hand back with a start. He could still _feel_ Crowley’s miracle, the residual magic hot and sharp over the clasps. It was as if Crowley was still willing the bag to protect the books. Aziraphale’s heart fluttered as he reached towards the clasps again, slowly this time, trying to- ah, it was still there. Aziraphale held his hand still, letting the magic that felt so clearly demonic yet somehow so clearly _not,_ linger over his fingers before he opened the bag, and the feeling disappeared, leaving Aziraphale feeling more alone than before. He picked up his glass and took a sip of the wine- wait. Hadn’t that been tea a moment ago? Aziraphale shook his head, he must have imagined pouring the tea. He tenderly lifted out each book from the bag, inspecting them for damages and finding them all in perfect condition. He loved Crowley for that-

He _loved_ Crowley.

It was ridiculous, he knew it was. An angel in love with a demon, it just didn’t happen. It was probably forbidden somewhere. (He couldn’t recall where, exactly, but Aziraphale was certain it was implied.) Aziraphale. In love. With _Crowley._ It was unimaginable. Sure, angels fell in love- but only with other angels. _Never_ with humans (although there had been a few unfortunate instances where- Aziraphale took another sip of wine, it was best not to think about that). Aziraphale was sent down to earth to guide and love all of Her creations, surely that applied to Crowley? He had been an angel once, he was still one of Hers, even though he was Fallen. Yes, that was it. Aziraphale loved Crowley the way he loved everything else She made. But even he couldn’t convince himself of that. This- this fluttering, flushing, heavy feeling in the heart that he didn’t need; it was so like what he had felt in Eden, in the beginning, yet it was so much more.

Aziraphale had read about people falling in love; love at first sight followed by blushing and large romantic gestures was a common theme that the humans loved to write about. This was nothing like that. There was no making eyes across a crowded ballroom, no swelling of violins, only the sudden realization that Aziraphale was hopelessly and completely in love with the very being who he was supposed to hate, his _enemy_ , his closest friend.

When did this even happen? Aziraphale begun replaying the scene in his head again, pacing the perimeter of the crowded back room of the book shop. That must have been it, the moment, a recent feeling. But his mind kept bringing up other things, other feelings. The “ruse” at the gentlemen’s club that had felt all too real, that Aziraphale had enjoyed more than he had any right to. Maybe then? But there was also the rush of fear and anger that he felt when Crowley had asked him for holy water. He could have given it to Crowley, heaven probably would have approved, but Aziraphale- well, he couldn’t even imagine a world without Crowley. Aziraphale had no reason to feel so angered by Crowley’s request, but there was still that feeling, that furious thumping in his chest that had made him throw the paper into the river and storm off. Had it already been there then… well, it must have been there by the Spanish Inquisition, when Crowley had gotten so drunk and Aziraphale had pulled him out of the gutter. Otherwise Aziraphale wouldn’t have stayed with him that evening, wouldn’t have felt that fluttering surge of- something. He didn’t want to name it then, hadn’t _dared_ to try.

He kept on like that for some time, every time he thought he found the moment when the feeling began, there was always one more thing that happened, one more dinner, one more meeting, one more evening spent together.

This feeling, it was always there. Small yes, but present nonetheless.

Aziraphale finished the glass of wine that he was _certain_ had been tea when he poured it- and the glass automatically filled with more wine. This was going to be a long night.

It was several glasses later that Aziraphale decided to pray for guidance. Not the way that angels did, although he did have a circle drawn under the carpet in case he ever needed to talk to heaven directly, but that was just a precaution. No, he decided to pray like the humans do, send his voice upwards and hope that She was listening, because he was fairly certain She was the only being who would. Aziraphale sat down in his chair, not quite sure what he was doing, but also not sure what else to do.

“Please,” Aziraphale began, clasping his hands together and closing his eyes, “I…I don’t know what to do. I need your help, I need guidance, just- something.” He took a deep breath before continuing.

“I love him, I know that now. I don’t know how long I’ve felt like this, but its there and it is _so_ strong. When you told us to love everything you made, did you mean this? He’s a _demon_ , he’s supposed to be my enemy. Its…forbidden, isn’t it? Angels and demons interacting like we have been for the past few thousand years. I know that you’ve seen us, you see everything so I’m going to assume that so far you haven’t cared all that much about what the two of us have been doing. But do you care about this? I know heaven would care. Gabriel wouldn’t stand for it, he would bring me back up and never let me leave, never let me see Crowley again. Or worse- he would smite Crowley on sight, and leave me here without him. He would say it’s for the better good, that loving a demon is a crime worth Falling for.

“But I refuse to believe that _this,_ that something as pure and _good_ as love, the way…the way that I love him, I cannot believe there is anything wrong with this. You made me as a being of love, surely you would not have made me capable of this had you thought it something bad or wrong in any way.

“I can’t tell Crowley either. He’d, well- he wouldn’t accept it. I know him, I know him far too well. He may tempt and flirt constantly, but he uses it as an excuse to avoid talking about anything serious. I suppose you already know all this.” Aziraphale paused as the thoughts formed fully in his head before speaking again.

“Is there a world, is there a way that he might…” Aziraphale couldn’t finish the sentence, biting his lip to keep tears from running down his face.

His eyelids were growing heavy. That was odd, Aziraphale never slept, but something came over him, a soft warm light that lulled him into a state of calm that he hadn’t felt since he was first made. He sighed, letting his eyes close as he began to drift off, but as he begun to fall into the comforting white light he was certain that he heard a familiar voice whispering to him:

_“Rest now my child, you have so much more in store for you, and you are going to need every bit of it that you can get."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that plays in the Bentley is Mozart's [Requiem in D Minor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Rwu16GRseg) also known as _Lacrymosa. _It's one of my favorite classical pieces of all time (a close second to the finale from Swan Lake).__  
>  1) The angsty chapter that was a week late. Well, at least its out here now. I went through multiple names for this chapter including: "the holy dark was moving too," "If there's a prize for rotten judgement (I guess I've already won that)" and my personal favorite: we finally hit the "mutual" part of "mutual pining".  
> 2) Chapter title is taken from Jeff Buckley's _Hallelujah. _The entire verse is:__  
>  _And it's not a cry that you hear at night ___  
>  _It's not somebody who's seen the light ___  
>  _It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_  
>  3) Thank you so much for your continued support, it means the world to me. And I should be back to my regular schedule soon, so as long as nothing too big suddenly happens we should be good.


	11. such wide abysses now of space and land between us

** Soho, England, 1967 **

Aziraphale twisted the sign on the window of the shop to "closed" the moment he set foot in the shop, rubbing his hand through his hair as he closed his eyes.

_ “You go too fast for me, Crowley.” _

That hadn’t quite been what he had meant to say: _I’m trying, but I can’t quite keep up with you. I love you so much it hurts, and I cannot imagine living in a world without you._

He had heard rumor of Crowley’s little heist, of course he had, despite what Crowley may occasionally say, Aziraphale was not an idiot. Robbing a church, well, there was only one thing Crowley would want from there, the one thing Aziraphale had refused to give him. But going to _humans_ for help? Preposterous. Knowing them they would mess it up somehow, leave a single drop of water on a container and Crowley- damned, lovely fool- would be gone. Truly gone. And Aziraphale- he couldn’t risk that. So he did the last thing he thought he would ever do: he gave Crowley the holy water. Surely Crowley must have figured it out then, that Aziraphale would do almost anything for him. He had offered Aziraphale a ride- “anywhere you want to go.” Aziraphale had been so tempted to say yes, to go away with Crowley and let himself imagine that they weren’t on opposite sides, that heaven wouldn’t destroy Crowley if they knew what was happening. So he had stopped, pulled back, stepped out of the car and walked back to the shop, berating himself internally the entire way there. 

He sat down in his favorite armchair and poured himself a glass of wine. His brain was being horribly unpleasant and was spinning images of Crowley being too curious and opening the thermos, a single drop of water falling onto his hand and sending his very essence back to the ether. 

Suddenly there was a rather loud banging on his door. 

“We’re closed!” Aziraphale yelled. Honestly, could people not read signs?

“Zira! Please!”

Aziraphale froze. There were very few, very _specific_ people who ever called him that. He rushed to the door and opened it, practically pulling the two young men inside as he closed the door quickly behind him, ushering them away from the windows and into the rows of bookshelves where they wouldn’t be seen. Aziraphale turned to the two men, who were clutching each other tightly.

Principalities as a whole were made to be guardians. And while Aziraphale’s job (broadly speaking) was to protect the humans from demonic temptation, but over the centuries he had found a specific type of human that he was naturally inclined to protect. The ones who loved others like them, even though the world nowadays might tell them that their love was a sin, that their mere _existence_ was an insult unto God. Really, where the humans had come up with that idea Aziraphale had no clue. Aziraphale had always tried to protect them when he could; make sure the men at his club were out of danger, that those two girls who lived down the street from him could live together without suspicions being cast upon them. Aziraphale was not blind to the irony of how similar it was to his own situation, but that only made him want to work harder.

He had also, unintentionally, earned a reputation. Aziraphale knew how he dressed, how he spoke. Knew what people thought when they first met him. But the glares he faced were more than worth the hidden smiles people would give him when they passed on the streets. The smiles that conveyed a silent respect and _You’re like me. I see you._ The longer he stayed in Soho, the more of “his” people began to flock there. Many of them were aware that if they ever needed help with anything (other than buying a book), Mr. Fell, or Zira as some of the younger men had begun to call him, would be there. 

This was not the first time these two particular young men had come running to the shop like this. 

“What did you do this time?” Aziraphale whispered, glaring slightly at Orion, the young man’s dark hair and green eyes normally made him look handsome in a devil-may-care sort of way, but now all of his usual bravado was gone, replaced by pure fear as he clutched Robbie’s arm, his fair-haired counterpart standing perfectly still.

“We didn’t do anything Zira, promise.” Orion said, leaning his head on Robbie’s shoulder. 

“Well, we were holding hands.” Robbie muttered.

“That’s not a crime!” Orion protested, clutching Robbie’s hand for emphasis.

“In the park. Alone. In _Soho._ It was certainly enough for the li- police to come chasing after us.”

“They didn’t follow you _here_ did they?” Aziraphale cut in, “If I have to send them out of here again-” _If I have to explain to Gabriel why I’ve been erasing the memories of certain policemen-_

“No, we were careful. Made sure we weren’t followed.” Robbie answered, “But… we don’t have anywhere else to go. Can we maybe-”

“Of course.” Aziraphale agreed immediately. 

It was too dangerous right now for them to go out again. Knowing Orion they would just end up right back in the bookshop, or worse- not come back at all. 

“Here, come join me for a cup of tea and then I’ll fix up the bedroom in the flat upstairs for you two to stay in for the night.” Aziraphale ushered them into the back room, miracling the blinds closed as soon as the young men had their backs turned. 

He brought them to a small table (that had not been there a moment before, but they didn’t need to know that), ducking upstairs and bringing them down three cups of tea a moment later. 

He sat down in front of the two young men, who looked far less terrified, the color beginning to return to their cheeks. They had moved their chairs closer together, and Orion was leaning against Robbie, muttering.

“That was a close one angel, the lilies nearly ‘ad us. If it weren’t for Zira- blessed queen- we’d probably be in the queer ken by now.”

“I know my dear.” Robbie pressed a kiss to the top of Orion’s head. 

Aziraphale’s brain faltered, suddenly bringing up all the times he had heard Crowley call him “angel.” He had always assumed that Crowley was just making a statement, revealing Aziraphale’s identity to the world. But here was this young couple in front of him calling each other “angel” not as a simple definition, but as an _endearment._ Was that what Crowley meant whenever he- no. Not worth thinking about at the moment. He had to take care of the people in front of him and worry about Crowley later. 

He slid the tea over to the two men, who smiled thankfully at him as they each took a sip. A comfortable silence filled the room as they drank. Orion was still leaning on Robbie, but the terror was leaving his eyes and was quickly being replaced with his normal mischievous smirk. Aziraphale examined them, they were an odd couple, not two people he might have thought would be drawn to each other. Orion was fashionable and unpredictable; he was so driven by his emotions he just acted without a second thought. It was one of the reasons Aziraphale had, on more than one occasion, had to help the young man out of a tricky spot. Robbie, on the other hand, was always dressed semi-formally and was generally clear headed, always thinking through his actions, he most likely would never get in trouble had it not been for Orion. No, Aziraphale would not have expected these two to get together, but the humans always surprised him. And they were so _obviously_ in love with each other, well, all in all Aziraphale thought it was rather adorable. 

“So,” Aziraphale began, “how did you two meet? I don’t think you’ve ever told me.” Robbie’s face turned a slight shade of pink and Orion smirked.

“We got in a fight at school when we were younger. Been inseparable ever since.”

“Insufferable more like.” Robbie muttered.

“A fight? Oh dear, do tell me nobody was hurt?”

Orion laughed, sliding an arm around Robbie’s shoulder, “Not that kind of fight. An argument more like. We were in this religious studies class, right? The teacher was having us talk about “free will” and all that.

“Anyways, Robbie and I had been in class together for a bit, hadn’t really spoken, but we were told to get into pairs and we just sort of ended up together. We got to talking about God and if He planned the world from the start was there such thing as free will. It turned into quite a row. But there was something about him that was fascinating- so we stuck together. And now here we are.” Orion patted Robbie’s shoulder for emphasis. Aziraphale smiled at them, he opened his mouth to speak, but to Aziraphale’s surprise, _Robbie_ cut him off. 

“So, do you have someone Mr. Fell?” Robbie never called him anything other than “Mr. Fell,” and normally Aziraphale would say that he didn’t have to be quite so formal, but he was too shocked to say anything.

“I-erm- excuse me?”

“Do you have someone else in the life with you?” Aziraphale paused, not quite sure how to answer. Did Crowley count as “someone?”

“Its…complicated.”

“Mr. Fell, look at us.” He tilted his head towards Orion in emphasis, “We understand complicated. You can tell us.” Something in Aziraphale melted as he heard those words. Here was Robbie, a human so much younger than Aziraphale, but the gleam in his eyes made him look so much wiser than his years, and Aziraphale found himself wanting to tell them everything. But…it was still Crowley. He couldn’t exactly explain to the humans _“I’m an angel who, for decades, has been in love with a demon who is supposed to be my enemy who is actually my best friend. Oh, and if Heaven and Hell ever find out about it they will punish both of us.”_ But Robbie was leaning forward, attentive as he held Aziraphale’s gaze in an inquisitive manner.

“There is…someone. I’ve- I’ve loved him for a long time, longer than either of you have been alive I expect.”

“Is he not…like us?” Orion asked, matching Robbie and leaning forward. Aziraphale suddenly remembered all the times that Crowley had presented as female over the millennia. 

“I honestly could not say.” He answered after a moment of deliberation. “It’s less about general preferences than it is about me specifically.” Aziraphale paused, deciding whether or not he should say more, but the expressions on the young men in front of him made him continue speaking. “You see, we’ve been friends for a _very_ long time, even though our…families would never have approved.”

“Family rivalry?” Robbie asked.

“Something like that, yes.”

“What’s he like, your beau?” Orion asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

_ He’s the best person I have ever met. _ Aziraphale thought.

“He is everything I am not. He is dashing and brave and “with the times” as you young people say.” Robbie laughed, playfully elbowing Orion in the arm as Aziraphale continued. “He asks questions even though he knows he won’t get an answer, and he pretends not to care when it is obvious to the world that he cares far too much.

“He’s also a reckless, stubborn, idiot with no sense of self-preservation.” Aziraphale added, some of the anger and fear about the holy water situation rising in him again. Had it only been an hour or so since they had talked? It felt like a decade had passed already. 

“Then again, I’m sure he would say the same about me.” Aziraphale smiled to himself, remembering the many times Crowley had helped him out of a difficult situation. Robbie grinned at him, seemingly satisfied with his answer.

“But enough about that. You two have had quite an eventful evening, and I am certain that you are exhausted. Let me make up the bedroom downstairs so the two of you can get some rest.”

The pair of them began to protest, saying that they could stay on the couches and chairs, but Aziraphale insisted. It’s not like he slept in the first place (not that they knew that, of course).

Technically there _was_ a bedroom in the flat upstairs, but as Aziraphale never slept, it had become more of an extra storage area for his books. He had planned on simply going upstairs and miracling the room presentable, but Orion insisted on coming up to help him. 

“It’s the least I can do Zira, after all you’ve done for us.”

Which was quite sweet, but it put a hinderance to Aziraphale’s plan. Orion followed him up the stairs, saying “Thank you Zira,” over and over again as Aziraphale subtly tried to make the room look like it had actually been lived in and not just willed into existence a few seconds before they walked in.

A tartan-covered bed was placed with the headboard against the wall, a simple wooden nightstand on one side of the bed and a closet on the other wall, leaving the rest of the room lined with overflowing bookshelves (he couldn’t be expected to do away with them simply because he had guests, now could he?). 

Aziraphale pulled a set of fresh linens out of the closet and handed them to Orion as he stripped the (already clean) bed and placed the new sheets and blankets on it. They worked together in a comfortable silence leaving Aziraphale’s mind to wander back to Crowley. 

He hoped that Crowley was being careful right now, that he was hiding the holy water in a place where it would be safe and wouldn’t be able to fall into the wrong hands. Crowley was curious, Aziraphale knew that. But he desperately hoped that his curiosity wouldn’t get the best of him, that he wouldn’t open the thermos, just to see what was in there. Aziraphale bit his lip, trying to stop the surge of anxiety that made him want to leave immediately and go find Crowley. If that stupid demon got himself killed because of what Aziraphale had given him, well- Aziraphale would never forgive himself.

Aziraphale was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized that Orion was speaking to him.

“I’m sorry, I got lost in my own head there, can you repeat that please?” Orion came over to the other side of the freshly made bed and sat down, looking sadder that Aziraphale had seen him before.

“How do you cope with it, Zira? You’ve been here far longer than we have. How do you stand the hate? Because they _hate_ us Zira! Just because of who we are. I just want to be allowed to love him, to hold his goddamn hand in public without the police chasing us. It’s not that much to ask. So why can’t we just be allowed to exist!” Orion wiped at his eyes with his hand. “I’m sorry Zira-”

“You don’t need to apologize for anything my dear boy.” Aziraphale interrupted, sitting down next to him and patting him on the back comfortingly. “The truth is that I _didn’t_ cope with it for a very long time. I was far older than you are when I figured it out, but I have also had more time in the world to learn from it. You already have a head start on me in that regard. But this world can be cruel. There were times before, centuries ago, when this would not have happened because there is nothing wrong with who you are. But now, while this world has become so cruel, my advice for you is this: hold the ones you love close to you. Keep yourself safe, and keep them safe. But try to make things change, because they won’t if nobody says anything. Be brave, and be afraid, and be cautious, but never be ashamed.”

Orion smiled at him and nodded; his eyes slightly puffy from the tears that had been rolling down his face a moment before. 

“Now, get ready for bed and I will bring your young man up in a minute.”

Aziraphale stood, straightening out his waistcoat before walking out of the room and closing the door behind him. Orion needed a minute alone.

Robbie was still sitting at the small table in the back room downstairs, and Aziraphale invited him up, leading the way back so the two young men could rest for the night. They certainly needed it. 

Aziraphale directed Robbie towards the room where Orion was waiting, but before Aziraphale could turn around to go back to the bookshop, Robbie surprised him by pulling him into a tight hug.

“Thank you so much Mr. Fell. For everything.” Robbie whispered before he pulled away and began to walk towards the general direction of the room. Aziraphale waited until he heard the door open and then close again before going back down to the shop.

Aziraphale sat down in an armchair and closed his eyes, murmuring a blessing over the two men who were currently sleeping in the flat above him. They would rest well tonight, Aziraphale ensured it.

With that done, Aziraphale’s mind immediately turned to the thoughts he’d been pushing back all night. To Crowley. He hoped Crowley was being careful. Aziraphale would have prayed for it had he thought it would do any good.

Everyone- heaven, Gabriel, even Crowley sometimes- seemed to forget something: Aziraphale had been a soldier, and they didn’t give the job _Guardian of the eastern Gate_ to just anybody. His job was to protect and love Her creations, to fight for them if necessary. He thought of the two sleeping men upstairs, of the demon who he desperately hoped was carefully hiding the holy water. He would call Crowley soon, there was always another assignment that could be used for the Arrangement. But for now, Aziraphale picked up a nearby book and began to read, trying desperately to forget about heaven, hell, and holy water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is a bit different from the rest, but October is LGBT+ history month and I wanted to write something that specifically showcased _some _of the hardships that LGBT+ people have faced over the course of history, and what better way to do that than through Aziraphale (standing by my headcannon that Aziraphale is the guardian angel of LGBT+ people).__  
>  Earlier in the chapter, Aziraphale overhears Orion and Robbie speaking Polari, a type of cant that was common in the 1960's in London among show people (actors, performers, and the like) and was also used by gay men as a safer(er) way of communicating with each other. Its a truly fascinating language and I would highly recommend looking [at this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polari) to learn more about it.  
> Chapter title is from one of Oscar Wilde's letters to Lord Alfred Douglas. The whole quote is:  
>  _I wish that when we met at Rouen we had not parted at all. There are such wide abysses now of space and land between us. But we love each other. ___  
> As always, thank you so much for sticking with this story, your support means the world to me.


	12. Quarter Past Midnight

**Soho, England, 2007**

The Antichrist was on earth, the beginning of the end of the world was upon them, and Crowley and Aziraphale were sitting together, no longer quite drunk in the bookshop. Aziraphale, the blessed bastard of an angel, was playing his ridiculous “I can’t go against heaven,” routine. Well, Crowley knew how this dance worked. It would take a while, Aziraphale would deny and Crowley would tempt. Aziraphale would concede and Crowley would stop just before giving Aziraphale what he _actually_ wanted, he always let the angel come to the conclusions on his own. It was a dance that they had done many times over the decades, and Crowley had every move memorized.

“Godfathers. Well I’ll be damned!”

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it.” Crowley winked at Aziraphale, who looked slightly rattled- whether it was at the wink or at the implication Crowley couldn’t tell. But the sudden shift of Aziraphale’s expression was suddenly far too hilarious. Crowley burst out laughing while Aziraphale stared at him, baffled.

“What’s so funny?” Crowley didn’t answer, he just kept laughing. “Are you alright there Crowley?”

“Only you angel,” Crowley muttered, trying to recover himself as he sat up on the arm of the sofa.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Crowley straightened up slightly.

“Well,” Aziraphale started, staring at Crowley like he had gone mad, “if we’re to be watching over the Antichrist, we should probably be there for his early years, make sure he isn’t too heavily influenced towards one side.”

“It just so happens that there’s an opening in the Dowling’s staff for a gardener and a nanny.”

Aziraphale tilted his head, and Crowley could almost _see_ the gears turning in his brain. _Which should I choose, nanny or gardener?_ It was sort of funny, but Crowley restrained himself from laughing again.

“Look, I’ll make it easier for you.” Crowley held out one hand and a silver coin appeared in his outstretched palm. “Heads, I’ll be the gardener and you’ll be the nanny, tails vis-versa.”

“No miracles?” Aziraphale asked hesitantly.

“No miracles.” Crowley agreed, smirking a bit. Always the same conversation when it came to these things. He raised an eyebrow and Aziraphale nodded at him, giving him permission. Crowley rested the coin on his thumb and flicked it in the air with a soft _ping_ that rang through the shop. The coin fluttered in the air, reflecting the soft light from the lamp as it hovered at the peak of it arch before coming back down and landing perfectly in Crowley’s outstretched palm. He closed his fist around the cold metal of the coin.

“Ready?” Aziraphale nodded again and Crowley opened his fist. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow,

“That settles that then. I suppose I’ll have to do some research on gardening.”

“I’m going to need to get some new clothes.” Crowley summoned another glass of wine to his hand and took a sip. He was going to be a nanny to the literal Antichrist (the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness). Dagon was going to get a kick out of this. His brain was already beginning to spin with creating a new character for him to play. A nanny… this could be fun. Before Crowley could keep going, Aziraphale cleared his throat, interrupting Crowley’s thoughts.

The angel gestured to a bottle of wine that had appeared miraculously in front of him.

“I think this calls for a toast, don’t you?” Aziraphale asked as he topped off Crowley’s glass.

“To preventing the apocalypse.” Aziraphale said as he clinked his glass against Crowley’s.

“To raising the antichrist.”

Crowley took a sip of wine, smirking at Aziraphale over the rim of his glass. Aziraphale licked his lips and Crowley forced himself to look away, and then let himself look again. After all, why shouldn’t he? He only had eleven years left on this miserable, beautiful planet. Eleven years left with Aziraphale. It wasn’t enough time. Six thousand years and maybe they were finally getting somewhere, only to get shot in the foot by the bloody end of the world. Crowley had honestly thought they would have more time. Fuck it. If he only had slightly more than a decade left before it all went to hell (or heaven), he would be damned twice over if he wasn’t going to spend as much time as he bloody well pleased with his angel.

Aziraphale may have been the one to suggest sobering up in the first place, but he was also the one to keep offering Crowley more booze. What sort of demon would Crowley be if he didn’t yield to temptation? Which is how Crowley ended up sprawled on Aziraphale’s sofa across from the angel, watching him as he fiddled with the gold ring on his finger. It was all so similar to… something, the way Aziraphale looked with the dim light behind him, highlighting the curls so that it looked like…

_Crowley was lounging on a straw mat facing Aziraphale as they both drank that incredibly strong early Greek wine. Aziraphale was staring at him, and despite having known the angel for thousands of years, he had never seen this expression on him before. Aziraphale looked free, he looked…happy. Crowley had seen the angel be happy before, but not quite like this. He was smiling almost… fondly at Crowley (which was utterly ridiculous, an angel couldn’t be fond of a demon, it wasn’t allowed) and the light of the fire behind him made it look like Aziraphale’s curls were one of those halos that the humans always drew. Crowley was playing with Aziraphale’s hand, the closest he could let himself be, and Aziraphale wasn’t pulling away from him. Aziraphale moved his hand, and for a moment Crowley had thought he had done something wrong, until Aziraphale gently, oh so gently, placed his hand on Crowley’s cheek. Crowley froze, all higher function in his brain gone as Aziraphale leaned towards him and whispered,_

_“You have lovely eyes.” Crowley couldn’t help but lean into the angel’s touch as Aziraphale ran his thumb over Crowley’s cheekbone. Crowley covered the angel’s hand with his own and slowly turned his head to place a soft kiss on Aziraphale’s palm. He met Aziraphale’s gaze, and time seemed to stand still around them, and maybe it had, Crowley was far too drunk to have proper control over his powers. Nevertheless, Crowley was suddenly aware of how close together they were, how if he leaned in just slightly, he could…_

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice brought him out of the memory.

“What? Yes, fine. Got lost in thought for a moment.” Aziraphale was staring at him, with those wide blue eyes and that soft smile, and a large part of Crowley wanted to lean forward and take the angel’s hand like he had in Greece. It had been allowed then, why couldn’t he do it now? They were certainly drunk enough that he could play it off. Would Aziraphale let him? Would he lean forward and put his hand on Crowley’s face the way he had all those centuries ago? Crowley would mirror the angel’s actions, taking his face in his hands and gently press his lips against the angel’s own and…

Nope. Bad idea. Do not follow that train of thought, _especially_ with Aziraphale right in front of him. It had taken them so long to get where they were, to casual evenings in the bookshop in which work was barely mentioned, to where they could openly call the other a friend. It wasn’t worth risking that, not when they only had eleven years left together. He could push at the line drawn between them, step one foot over occasionally, but there was only so much indulgence that was allowed.

Crowley glanced at his watch: _quarter past midnight_. The antichrist had officially been on Earth for a full twenty-four hours.

“Is it getting late?” Aziraphale asked, looking at Crowley’s watch.

“Quarter past twelve.”

“Oh, right, erhm, are you going to be leaving soon then?” Aziraphale looked disappointed at the idea of it, much to Crowley’s delight.

“I’m _far_ too drunk to drive all the way back.” Crowley said, sliding off the arm of the sofa and onto the cushion. “Can’t I just stay here?” Aziraphale gave him a look that Crowley interpreted as: _“I know what you’re doing, you serpent, and don’t think I buy it for a minute.”_

“Oh, _alright._ You are correct my dear, it would be quite horrible of me to let you drive off in this intoxicated state. The risks involved; it would be unangelic for me to _not_ insist that you stay.”

“Far too dangerous,” Crowley agreed, “I could get discorporated.”

“No, I meant far to risky for the people on the road.”

“They know the risks they’re taking when they step onto the road.” Crowley scoffed, a bit of heat rising to his face. Aziraphale chuckled at him, and oh, there was that glint in his eyes. That mischievous little smirk that had no place on an angel’s face but fit Aziraphale perfectly.

Aziraphale reached out and grabbed Crowley’s hand from off the back of the sofa. Crowley froze as Aziraphale smiled softly, running his thumb in circles on Crowley’s wrist.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked hesitantly, not daring to move.

“You know, it is quite odd to think about, the end of the world. Given how long we’ve been on earth.”

“Erhm…” Crowley said eloquently. “Angel?”

“There are so many things that I’ve wanted to do, but kept putting off. Because I thought I had more time, because I was afraid.” He gently tugged on Crowley’s wrist, and Crowley shot up quickly, not fully in control of his own actions. Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley’s cheek, Crowley inhaled sharply. “It would be a shame,” Aziraphale continued, “if I didn’t do this at least once.” Aziraphale leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against Crowley’s.

Crowley froze, unable to move or form a coherent thought because _Aziraphale was kissing him_ , and he was so warm- Aziraphale pulled away far too soon, a look of concern on his face.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me, I’ll leave you-” Crowley lunged forward, capturing the angel’s lips before he could finish speaking.

“Don’t you _dare_ apologize.” Crowley muttered against Aziraphale’s lips. “Not for this.” To which Aziraphale responded by pulling Crowley even closer, effectively ending anything resembling conversation for quite some time.

They stayed on the sofa kissing, in a half-drunk, closed-mouth way for a long time, neither of them quite willing to let the other go. Crowley didn’t know what this meant for them, if it changed anything. But he did know that they wouldn’t talk about it, not really. Aziraphale, if asked, would either deny anything or would say it was a drunken mistake, and Crowley was better off not knowing where they were than hearing Aziraphale dismiss it.

It was Aziraphale who pulled away first, uncertainty in his eyes.

“Crowley-”

“Don’t,” Crowley cut him off, “don’t say anything just- how does some more wine sound?” Aziraphale nodded, moving away to stand up and grab their glasses from the table, pouring copious amounts of alcohol for both of them.

They drank in silence, and if they sat closer together than normal- touching at the arm and waist and knee and leg, they weren’t going to talk about it. And if Crowley leaned his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder and began to drift off, they weren’t going to talk about that either. As Crowley fell asleep, leaning against the angel slightly, there was one thing he knew for certain: Whatever it was the Aziraphale and he had, that alone made the world worth saving, and Crowley would be blessed if he wasn't going to fight for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Sorry for taking so long to get this chapter up. It took a bit of extra work to get it to go anywhere.  
> 2\. Chapter title taken from Bastille's _Quarter Past Midnight. _The lyrics specifically being: _it's a quarter past twelve/And you said we'd leave this place in dust/ And fall from heaven straight through hell/ We never know what we have/ We never knew what we had. _This entire chapter can actually be roughly traced back to what happens in the song, so I would highly suggest looking it up.___  
>  3\. This was not how I planned this chapter to go, but it just sort of...happened. I hope it was worth the wait.  
> 4\. Thank you so much to everyone who has stayed with this story. I know I say this every chapter, but I started writing this on a whim earlier this summer, and the feedback I've gotten since then has been absolutely astounding. I appreciate every one of you, and you guys mean the world to me. Special little shout out to my amazing GO fam on Discord, because I love you guys._


	13. Before you start a war, you better know what you're fighting for

**The Dowling Estate, London, 2014**

There were many advantages to being the nanny to the Antichrist.

For one thing, Dagon was so impressed with her progress that they were requiring minimal paperwork, as long as she checked in semi-regularly, Crowley was in the clear. But it wasn’t just the lack of paperwork that Crowley found herself enjoying. There was a kind of freedom in the life she was living now, in the everyday simplicity of it. She woke up early and miracle herself into an acceptable outfit for the day, woke up the Antichrist (the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness) and made sure that he was dressed and ready for whatever lessons (or lack of) Crowley had planned for the day. After their lessons (and Warlock’s ever-growing skill at escaping them) Crowley would hand off Warlock to Aziraphale, ehm, _Brother Francis_ for the afternoon, letting some heavenly influences take hold on the child. Then she would pick up Warlock, thank Aziraphale for watching him for a bit, then get the kid ready for dinner, where Warlock would go back to being nanny’s little devil. After he had eaten, Warlock would use the next hour or so that he had before Crowley put him to sleep to either play with various toys in his room, or to crawl on Crowley’s lap and ask her whatever questions popped into his head. Then she would take him to bed and tell whatever stories or sing whatever songs Warlock wanted until he fell asleep. After that she would retire to her room down the hall, or go visit Aziraphale in the gardener’s cabin on the very back of the property, which was surprisingly comfortable all things considered (and the little bit of heavenly interference certainly helped). 

Crowley and Aziraphale saw each other every day now that they were working together in the same place. It was wonderfully and frighteningly domestic sometimes. Just the other day Warlock had taken both of their hands and led them through the garden on an “adventure." Crowley lived for moments like those, when it was just Aziraphale and Warlock and her. It was all so…human.

All in all, Crowley rather enjoyed raising the little hellion.

She could never let Hell find out about that. If Dagon found out that she actually _cared_ about the Antichrist the way she imagined it was like to care about a son; well, that was a sure trip back to hell to be condemned to paperwork until the end times. But as long as she kept Beelzebub informed (and kept Dagon in their favor,) Crowley had free reign over the raising of little Warlock.

Today however, the little antichrist was running around the Dowling’s mansion with the bright yellow toy Nerf gun (a gift from the boy’s “father” on his return from his last trip to America. What was it with Americans and guns?) and was shooting various lamps, vases, and staff members with the plastic bullets. Crowley might have found it hilarious had Warlock not decided to press his luck and shoot her in the leg. Crowley decided that Warlock had been inside for far too long and it was time that they spent a day outside in the garden. _Let Aziraphale deal with it_ , Crowley thought as Warlock sulked at her side.

Aziraphale was at the back of the property, currently trying to manage a particularly wild fern that had been refusing to bloom fully. Crowley rolled her eyes behind her glasses, she would- grudgingly- admit that the garden did look quite good, but Aziraphale was too soft on his plants and they didn’t take him seriously. Crowley would _never_ tolerate such disobedience from her own plants.

“Brother Francis, I hope we’re not interrupting anything major.” Aziraphale shot up, getting a leaf stuck in his hair.

“Lady Ashtoreth,” Aziraphale said, ducking his head slightly and smiling. “Never a bother. I was just working on this fine fern. What brings you here today?” Aziraphale squinted his eyes slightly in that way of his that Crowley had determined to mean _“is there something that we need to talk about?”_ Crowley shook her head slightly.

“It seems that _Young Master Warlock_ ,” Crowley said, imitating the voice Aziraphale had chosen for Brother Francis, “has been kept up inside for too long and has been using the staff members as target practice.” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow in a look that Crowley _knew_ meant: _“by “staff” did you mean you?_ ” Crowley ignored him. “Would you mind keeping an eye on him for a bit while I go prepare lunch? You’re welcome to join us, of course.” Crowley added hastily.

“That would be lovely, thank you very much.” Aziraphale held out his hand to Warlock, who was moping behind Crowley. “Come along young master Warlock, how about we try and see which of the animals are hiding today.” Warlock began to smile as Aziraphale pretended to dig through a bush, calling out for the animals to find them. Crowley rolled her eyes at him, but she couldn’t help the small smile that crept on her face. Aziraphale was utterly ridiculous with his buck teeth and the stupid sideburns, but he was certainly good at this aspect of his job: he could always make Warlock laugh. 

Crowley, as promised, had gone set up a picnic for lunch. There had been a soft murmur of thunder in the air, but she had glared at the incoming clouds and they had quickly decided that this was not the right place to unleash their downpour, and that they had better settle elsewhere. Crowley had set up everything underneath a tree, not quite out of earshot of the angel and the antichrist, and was currently making sure that everything was just right for whenever Warlock got bored and decided he was hungry. Crowley doubted that would happen for a while, Aziraphale had stepped up his game today. Warlock had, as of today: held a bird in his hand, “helped” Aziraphale plant a small bush, and had even pet a deer that had come out of the woods. It looked like something out of a Disney movie (of which Crowley had now seen many, thanks to Warlock), which- she would grudgingly admit- was pretty good on Aziraphale’s part. The angel had just brought a bee to rest on Warlock’s finger when Warlock asked,

“Brother Francis? What do people mean when they talk about “the birds and the bees?” Crowley stifled a laugh. Aziraphale would certainly have a fun time explaining this one. Crowley was thinking of all the ways she could go about dealing with this later, when Aziraphale, calm as anything, looked right at Crowley and said for all to hear,

“That’s for your nanny to answer when you’re older.”

Crowley glared at Aziraphale. Warlock opened his mouth to speak again when he suddenly screamed, pointing at something in the bush. Crowley was instantly on guard, prepared to defend Warlock, but before Crowley could get there Aziraphale bent down and picked up a large rope-like thing in his arms while Warlock stared at him in shock.

“Did Brother Serpent frighten you?” Aziraphale asked, letting the creature wrap around his forearm. Warlock didn’t say anything, he just kept staring at Aziraphale. “You don’t need to be afraid, come here.” Aziraphale crouched down slowly to be at eye level with Warlock, who was slowly coming closer. He held his hand out and Aziraphale gently guided two of Warlock’s fingers down the snake’s spine.

“You see,” Aziraphale said as a smile began to grow back on Warlock’s face, “snakes just have a bit of a bad reputation. But they are only dangerous if they think you’re going to hurt them. As long as they don’t think you’re a threat, they won’t bite.

“Besides,” Aziraphale looked directly at Crowley, “some of them can be quite sweet if you take the time to get to know them.”

_That. Bastard._

Warlock had payed attention to the snake for a few minutes more before deciding that he was hungry and wanted to eat right this instant. Aziraphale quickly gave into Warlock’s demands (never one to resist a good meal) and both of them joined Crowley for lunch underneath the tree. They had just finished eating and Crowley was debating whether she should suggest that the three of them do something before dinner when her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket. She looked at the message and groaned.

“What is it?” Aziraphale asked, leaning over to glance at Crowley’s phone.

“Mrs. Dowling’s mother came for a surprise visit and they want Warlock there for the rest of the day.” Warlock pouted. “I don’t want to go back there!” He whined. Aziraphale shot him a look that said: _“Whining is rude.”_ While Crowley smiled because Warlock was sounding _exactly_ like some of the child-kings she had met in the centuries before. Seemed like she was doing her job all right. Unfortunately, they _did_ need to leave. Crowley couldn’t risk getting fired and having to find a new demon to replace her. Aziraphale was the first one to stand, offering a hand to Crowley to help her get up. She gratefully accepted, holding Aziraphale’s hand just a bit longer than necessary before dropping it. She bid Warlock to stand up so they could get going and be the _perfect_ amount late. But that got cancelled as soon as Aziraphale insisted on walking back with them. Crowley protested half-heartedly, but relented soon enough. Warlock lead the way, hopping on every rock he could find and wandering off the path multiple times.

They arrived far later than Crowley had hoped, due to Warlock’s various detours and the unspoken agreement between everyone to take as long as possible walking back. Crowley stopped at the door.

“You go inside now dear, I’ll be there in a moment, I just need to talk to Brother Francis about something really quickly.” She patted Warlock on the back and he went running inside, probably to go get his Nerf gun again. Crowley turned back to face Aziraphale, who was standing there, not quite meeting her eye. She understood why: the nanny and the gardener hardly ever got seen together, and the staff here were prone to gossiping about the tiniest of things, let alone what their respective sides might think if they happened to be looking down at this moment.

“Are we-”

“This was-” Both of them started at once, then stopped.

“You go,” Crowley said,

“No, you first, I insist.”

“Are we-” Crowley started, and then stopped again. She didn’t even know what she was going to say. _Are we doing enough to stop The End? Are we ever going to talk about it, what happened that night? Are we just going to keep playing nanny and gardener until the end of the world?_ “Are we still set to meet at the fourth rendezvous point on Saturday?” She said instead. _Fantastic job._ Crowley thought, wanting to smack herself for not being able to get the right bloody words to come out.

“Yes- yes, that’s the concert hall, right?” Crowley nodded in agreement. They stood there for an increasingly awkward moment. Aziraphale began to fidget his hands in that way of his that always meant he had something to say, but wasn’t quite sure how to say it.

“Just spit it out angel. Whatever you’ve got on your mind is clearly bugging you, and I need to head inside in a moment.”

Aziraphale nodded, but instead of speaking, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a perfect white gardenia flower and held it out to her.

“I just thought- I mean I thought that-”

“I know, angel.”

Crowley _did_ know. She knew that Aziraphale loved her, even if he wouldn’t say it- even though he still denied it on principle and pretense and “loyalty to heaven.” But Crowley would take all of that, all of the fear and denial and uncertainty between them; she would keep all of it as long as there were moments like these. She took the flower, gingerly holding the stem between two fingers. In that moment she ensured that the flower would never die or wither, she would keep it to remember exactly what she was working for. In a split-second decision, Crowley leaned forward and kissed Aziraphale on the cheek.

“I need to head inside, or soon people will start whispering that the nanny and the gardener are having an affair.” She had expected Aziraphale to blush and get flustered, but to her surprise, he just chuckled.

“Good bye, Lady Ashtoreth.” Aziraphale bowed his head.

“Good bye, Brother Francis.”

Crowley lingered on the porch for a moment, watching Aziraphale leave to go bless some plants to death. Then she turned around, tucking the flower into her lapel, and went inside to round up the antichrist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write something sweet and fluffy before it all goes sideways, so here it is. Chapter title taken from _Angel With a Shotgun _by The Cab__  
>  1) I am so sorry for how inconsistent I’ve been as of late with my updates. I’m doing my best to still get out a chapter per week, but life gets in the way sometimes.  
> 2) White Gardenia flower means “Secret Love” in flower language.  
> 3) We’re getting (sort of) close to the end with this one. I haven’t planned out exactly how many chapters this will be, but we’re almost there. And don’t worry, I have a few other ideas that I will be working on as soon as this one is done. I have a feeling you all are going to like them.  
> 4) Please tell me if I missed any of Crowley’s pronouns. I think I caught all the mistakes, but its always possible that I overlooked something.  
> 5) Thank you all so much for your support. I love hearing from you guys, and you are all wonderful people who mean the world to me.


	14. Innocence died screaming (honey ask me, I should know)

** 2019 Somewhere in the country, England **

Eleven years. They had spent _eleven years_ playing godfathers to the child who was not the Antichrist- but the son of the American Ambassador. How on earth had it all gone so wrong? Aziraphale racked his brain as Crowley drove back to London at breakneck speed. Warlock, the child they had watched over and influenced for over a decade, was the _wrong child._

To say that those years that he had spent helping to influence Warlock had been uneventful would have been a lie. It was mundane and ordinary- but hardly ever uneventful. Warlock may not have been the antichrist, but he was certainly qualified to compete for the title; Crowley had certainly made sure of that. Warlock was chaotic and spoiled and prone to tantrums whenever he didn’t get his way, but he was also an incredibly kind and smart child who loved animals and adventure stories. He was the child that Aziraphale and Crowley had taken care of, had _loved._ Even if he wasn’t the antichrist, that love didn’t just go away. 

Crowley was staring straight ahead at the road in front of them, his jaw clenched. Aziraphale imagined Crowley must be feeling something along the same lines as what he was feeling at the moment- no. Crowley was probably feeling more. 

Aziraphale had helped influence Warlock, yes, but he had been a gardener. He had seen Warlock once a day for a few hours and then he would go back to tending the Dowling’s garden. But Crowley had been Warlock’s nanny. He had been with Warlock constantly, for years. Aziraphale had seen how he had cared for Warlock, the soft smile that came on his face when he thought that Aziraphale wasn’t looking. Crowley had always been encouraging and- dare he say it- _kind_ with children, and being with Warlock seemed to bring out the side of him that Aziraphale rarely ever saw. Aziraphale had watched Crowley hold Warlock in his arms, singing to the child as he rocked him to sleep. He had watched Crowley play with Warlock and encourage him to go on and “practice for when you’ll actually conquer the world.” Aziraphale doubted Crowley would ever admit it out loud, but he knew that Crowley loved Warlock more than he let on.

It hadn’t been just the time raising Warlock that Aziraphale had enjoyed over the past few years. There had been meetings, in concert halls and parks and restaurants. They had compared notes on Warlock’s development, which always came to the same result; neutral unaffected by both sides (or rather, equally affected by both sides). But they hardly ever only talked about business on those outings. They would sit next to each other in concert halls, their hands close but never touching, (it wasn’t safe, not when Aziraphale _knew_ heaven was keeping tabs on him) but they couldn’t say anything if he rested his arm against Crowley’s on the armrest between them. Or they would sit across from each other in a restaurant, and Crowley would always save him the last few bites of dessert. Aziraphale found himself looking forward to those evenings. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been doing that for years, centuries even, but there was something different about when they did it while they were caring for Warlock, something more… tranquil, calm. As if there wasn’t Heaven and Hell between them.

Crowley still hadn’t spoken, and Aziraphale was watching the little speed meter slowly climb up to one hundred. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, Crowley kept staring ahead, pressing down on the pedal and bringing the car even faster. _One hundred ten, one fifteen._

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said sharply, trying to get the demon’s attention. “Slow down, you’ll discorporate us both!” Crowley made an audible hiss, but he lifted his foot off the gas and the car began to decrease in speed slightly.

“How…perfectly planned…went wrong…” Crowley muttered under his breath. 

Aziraphale was, frankly, wondering the same thing. Crowley had been _certain_ that Warlock was the antichrist. Aziraphale could still see the tension in Crowley’s shoulders and in his jaw. He debated whether he should ask Crowley to pull over but he doubted that would do any good. He couldn’t see Crowley’s eyes behind those infernal glasses, but he could tell that the demon’s mind was spinning, trying to figure out how it had gone wrong, and how neither of them had picked up on it. But…Crowley _had_ made comments about Warlock being slow to grow into his powers, he had mentioned that Warlock should have been trying to shape the world around him by now. Aziraphale had dismissed it, he had actually thought that his heavenly influence had been affecting Warlock towards the light and that was why he was so… normal. What a fool he had been. 

“Well,” Aziraphale said after several more minutes of contemplation, “With what that nice young lady at the manor said, we know that the only place it could have gone wrong was when he first arrived on earth. It was the only time in which no one had an eye on him.” Crowley looked at him for the first time since they set foot in the Bentley. He didn’t say anything still, but he made a sharp left at an intersection, throwing Aziraphale against the side door. 

“What the devil are you doing?” Aziraphale squeaked, pulling himself upright.

“Leaving bloody Tadfield.” Crowley answered sharply. Aziraphale resisted the urge to pat Crowley’s shoulder comfortingly, it probably wouldn’t go over well. He knew that Crowley’s irritation wasn’t directed at him _specifically,_ but he also knew that attempting to comfort Crowley when he was in this agitated state would only make it worse. Best to be quiet and wait. Aziraphale fiddled with his ring as he stared out the window at the English countryside whirring past. His mind was still spinning at a thousand miles per hour. Today was the Antichrist’s eleventh birthday, that meant he had a total of five days left until Armageddon, until heaven and hell called them back to their respective sides and expected them to fight.

Aziraphale had fought in the last war, had led a platoon with flaming sword in hand onto the battlefield in the planes between reality. He had been a loyal soldier and had fought, out of loyalty and requirement. He had watched as his fellow angels were struck down, their wings beginning to smolder as they were pulled to Hell. He didn’t want to fight again. Aziraphale knew it was selfish, but he didn’t want to fight anymore. There were so many beautiful things on earth, and, no matter how hard he tried, an eternity of white corridors and celestial harmonies was something that Aziraphale could not see as a victory. But there was more than that: Aziraphale refused to fight Crowley. If it eventually came down to it, to them on the battlefield, Aziraphale would drop his sword. He wouldn’t fight. How could he? It was _Crowley._ Crowley, who bickered and teased and tempted, who drove the Bentley so fast Aziraphale was certain that on the one day Crowley didn’t manipulate the road they would both discorporate; Crowley, who had saved Aziraphale more times than he cared to admit. Crowley, who Aziraphale loved with every fiber of his being. 

He had kissed Crowley, on that night when he learned the world was about to end. He and Crowley had gotten far too drunk to have been doing anything resembling logical thinking that evening, but that was no excuse. He had wanted to kiss Crowley for ages, and in that moment, when it was the two of them together in the bookshop, Aziraphale had, for the first time in six thousand years, forgotten entirely about what his superiors might say had they happened to be looking down on him that moment. All he had thought about was that they had eleven years together, and Aziraphale had to do it at least once, even if it never happened again, once would be enough. And Crowley had kissed him back, taking all thoughts and worries and doubts from his mind.

They hadn’t kissed again since that evening. Aziraphale wouldn’t risk it, if heaven found out what he had done they would recall him immediately and make sure that he never saw Crowley again, and if Hell found out about Crowley- well, Aziraphale doubted they would be as kind as Heaven. As long as they didn’t do anything, as long as they weren’t seen together by their respective head offices, they would be safe. 

They drove in silence as the sun began to go down, neither of them trying to hold a conversation. After six thousand years together, they were comfortable with silence, and both of them needed time to process. Aziraphale’s mind was stuck in a loop of _antichrist, missing, Crowley, eleven years, wrong boy, five days._ Judging by his silence, Aziraphale assumed Crowley was going through a similar cycle. Aziraphale looked over at Crowley, it was dark, but he could see that Crowley was still staring straight ahead at the road. 

“Is there some other way of locating him?” Aziraphale asked, breaking the silence.

“How the Heaven should I know? Armageddon only happens once, you know. They don’t let you go around again until you get it right.” Aziraphale felt the car beginning to speed up again as Crowley continued speaking, clearly growing more frustrated. “But I know one thing. If we don’t find him. It won’t be the war to end all wars. It’ll be the war to end everything.” 

As they drove into the town Aziraphale was suddenly struck by an overwhelming series of emotions. He put his hand to his chest and gasped as he was flooded by memories from the past millennia. 

_ The moment he had first been Made and She was holding him in Her light, filling him with a warm sense of duty of belonging of…  _

_ The rush of pity he felt as he gave his sword to Adam, hoping that at least with the weapon they would have a chance.  _

_ He reached out and placed his hand on Crawley’s cheek, running his thumb over his cheekbones. “You have lovely eyes,” Aziraphale had said, his heart thumping erratically in his chest.  _

_ The first day he had officially opened his bookshop and seen every single shelf neatly organized and clean. It was a place that was his, and for the first time in history Aziraphale felt like he was home.  _

_ Aziraphale stared as Crowley walked away, unable to move or think properly because Crowley had saved the books, had gone onto consecrated ground to make sure Aziraphale wasn’t harmed and he had saved the books… _

Love. Aziraphale had been hit by a force field of _love._ He looked over at Crowley, who didn’t seem to be experiencing anything other than general irritation. 

“There’s a very peculiar feeling to this whole area. I’m astonished you can’t feel it.”

“I don’t feel anything out of the ordinary.” Crowley said tensely. 

“But it’s everywhere,” Aziraphale insisted, because there was no way that Crowley wasn’t feeling any of this. “All around here. Love. Flashes of love.” Something shifted in Crowley’s expression, before hardening again.

“You’re being ridiculous. The last thing we need right now is-”

The Bentley jerked as Aziraphale felt a loud _thump_. Crowley slammed the breaks, brining the Bentley to a sharp halt.

“You hit someone.”

“I didn’t. Someone hit me.” 

Aziraphale shuffled out of the car frantically, praying (well, deliberately not praying) that he wouldn’t have to explain an unplanned resurrection to Gabriel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Chapter title taken from Hozier's _From Eden _  
> 2\. Thank you all for your continuing support and kind words of encouragement. It never fails to make me smile and always warms my heart to hear from you.__


	15. I'll see your heart, and I'll raise you mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more compliant with how the bandstand scene was in the script book, meaning it was dark out with a beautiful starry sky above them.

**St. James Park, London, 2019**

Aziraphale paced back and forth across the width of the bandstand. He knew where the antichrist- the _actual_ antichrist- was.

_Adam Young. Tadfield._

He ought to tell Heaven that he had found him. If they knew where he was, they could do something about it- there didn’t need to be a war at all. He should tell Heaven. Any other angel would have done so without hesitation. Aziraphale wanted to tell Crowley. More than anything he wanted to tell Crowley. He deserved to know, didn’t he? After all, the whole thing was Crowley’s responsibility in the first place, it made sense to tell him. But he couldn’t. He needed to tell Heaven first. Aziraphale had meant to, when he had gone to visit head office, but he had gotten rather side-tracked with the whole “nothing between Heaven and Hell was ever really settled” conversation. If he could just _talk_ to them, make them _listen_ , they would see that the war could be prevented.

Aziraphale pulled out his pocket watch. Crowley was late. Aziraphale so badly wanted to tell him, that way they could figure it out together. They could make it work, they always had before. But there was a part of Aziraphale that was holding him back. It whispered in the back of his head that he still shouldn’t rust Crowley, that we was a _demon,_ the Enemy, that they were on opposite sides. There was still a part of him that was convinced that meeting with Crowley the way he had been for the past six thousand years was something to be hidden and ashamed of.

Aziraphale wandered out of the bandstand and looked up at the black sky, filled to the brim with stars and planets and galaxies. Aziraphale hadn’t seen them in a very long time, and now it seemed like he never would again. He felt a familiar presence pull at him as he looked up at the stars that prompted him to go back to the bandstand just as Crowley happened to be arriving.

“Any news?” Crowley asked, gesturing with his hands.

“Um. What kind of news would that be?”

“Well? Do you have the missing Antichrist’s name, address, and shoe size yet?”

“Shoe size? Why would I have his shoe size?” Aziraphale said, feeling the guilt slowly creeping up in him.

“Joke. I’ve got nothing either.” Aziraphale could tell him right now and it would all be fine.

“It’s the Great Plan, Crowley.” Aziraphale said instead.

“For the record: Great pustulent mangled bollocks to the Great Blasted Plan!” Crowley yelled at the sky above them, as if he were speaking to God Herself (which, Aziraphale assumed, he was).

“May you be forgiven.”

“I won’t be forgiven. Not ever!” Crowley snapped, “That’s part of a demon’s job description. _Unforgivable. That’s what I am_.”

 _I would forgive you,_ Aziraphale thought, _I already have._

“You were an angel once.” _Heaven’s prodigal son._

“That was a long time ago.” Crowley walked up to Aziraphale until they were almost chest to chest, whispering angrily, “We find the boy. My agents can do it…”

“And then what? We eliminate him?” Aziraphale asked, hoping that Crowley had been able to come up with a better plan than what he had suggested with Warlock.

“Well… somebody does. I’m not personally up for killing kids.” Any other day Aziraphale would have been grateful that Crowley trusted him enough to admit that out loud (and while sober), but was he suggesting that _Aziraphale_ should be the one to kill the Antichrist?

“You’re the demon. I’m the nice one. I don’t have to kill children.” Aziraphale said, looking around frantically to makes sure no one had overheard them. “If you kill him, then the world gets a reprieve. And Heaven does not have blood on it’s hands.” Aziraphale’s brain briefly brought up images of the Flood and of Sodom and Gomorrah, but he pushed those images back to the recesses of his mind.

“Oh, no blood on your hands? That’s a bit holier-than-thou isn’t it?”

“I am a great deal holier-than-thou, that’s the whole point.” Aziraphale snapped. He had to make it clear to Crowley that nothing they tried to do would work if Heaven was just going to go ahead and fight anyways.

“Then you should kill the boy yourself. Holi-ly.”

“I am not. Killing. Anybody.”

“This is ridiculous. _You’re_ ridiculous. I don’t even know why I’m still talking to you.”

“Well, frankly, neither do I.”

“Enough. I’m leaving.” Aziraphale’s heart fluttered as he began to panic. Crowley couldn’t just _leave_ , otherwise what was he fighting for?

“You can’t leave Crowley.” Aziraphale called out desperately. “There isn’t anywhere else to go.”

Crowley turned around on the heels of his boots and looked at Aziraphale with an expression he couldn’t decipher. The demon looked up at the starry sky above them for a minute and then back at Aziraphale, his expression softening.

“Big universe. Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we could go off together?”

“Go off, together?”

All the thoughts that had been racing through Aziraphale’s mind came to a sudden halt as he tried to process Crowley’s offer. He could see the entire thing play out in his head. He would leave with Crowley and go to who-knows-where. Maybe they would see a few nebulae and galaxies. They would go off together and Aziraphale could do whatever he pleased because at that point why shouldn’t he? He and Crowley would escape, together, and the earth would burn. The bookshop, the flats, St. James park, the earth and all its creatures would be reduced to ashes. But he and Crowley would be _together,_ and maybe he could live with that. But Aziraphale knew that it wouldn’t last. Heaven and Hell would never truly leave them alone, never truly release their holds on them. They would be living on borrowed time before it all came crashing down on them.

“Listen to yourself.”

“How long have we been friends? Six thousand years.” Crowley pushed.

“Friends? We’re not friends. We are an _angel_ and a _demon_.” _We can’t, it won’t work._ “We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don’t even like you.” The words hurt to say. It hurt to hear them come out of his mouth.

“You do.” Crowley insisted.

“Even if I did know where the antichrist was, I wouldn’t tell you! We’re on opposite sides!” _They would kill us both, please, let me figure it out first, let me try and make them listen._

“We’re on _our_ side.” Crowley said, the words piercing straight to Aziraphale’s heart. He wanted it to be true, he wanted it so badly he could feel himself giving in, ready to stop fighting and go with Crowley. He had to end it, had to make that line drawn so clearly that Crowley wouldn’t try to cross it until Aziraphale reached out first. Bridges could be mended over time, but he had to break them first.

“There isn’t an ‘our side’, Crowley. Not anymore. It’s over.” The words stung as they left his lips, every lying syllable cutting his aching heart like a knife. Crowley inhaled deeply and for a second Aziraphale thought Cowley was going to keep talking, and felt a rush of panic at the idea. If Crowley kept talking, Aziraphale would give in. He had never been that good at resisting temptation. But Crowley exhaled,

“Right. Well, then. Have a nice doomsday.” Crowley turned his back to Aziraphale and walked away from him.

Aziraphale watched as Crowley’s figure grew smaller and smaller until he disappeared around a corner. As soon as Crowley left his line of sight, Aziraphale collapsed to his knees as tears began to flow from his eyes.

He put his head in his hands and, for a few moments, let himself sob as he realized that he had possibly just lost the only being in heaven earth or hell who he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I actually published a chapter on time! It's a miracle.  
> 1) Chapter title taken from _I'll See Your Heart And I'll Raise You Mine _by Bell X1 (Which I would highly recommend looking up because it fits them so perfectly its astounding.)__  
>  2) I feel like I should apologize for the angst? Because it's going to get worse before it gets better, but it WILL get better. I am keeping my promise of a happy ending.  
> 3) Thank you all so much for your continuing support and your lovely comments. Hearing from you guys makes my day, so always feel free to chatter in the comments section.


	16. When I watch the world burn, all I think about is you

**Soho, England, 2019**

Crowley stepped through the flaming doorway of the bookshop, ashes and soot clinging to his clothes and hair and skin. He pulled off his ruined glasses, and his uncovered eyes glazed over the scene before him: firefighters watching the flames creep up the walls, people standing behind them and murmuring about what could have caused the three-hundred-year-old shop to light up the evening.

It didn’t matter. None of them mattered.

Aziraphale was _gone._

Numbness crept up in him, making him feel further from earth than he had ever been before. Crowley watched himself hold out his glasses.

“I shouldn’t litter, should I?” Crowley heard himself say, not quite in control of his own body, “I mean, I probably should litter, I’m a demon after all, but nobody’s really keeping score anymore.”

Crowley dropped the ruined glasses onto the sidewalk and felt himself walk over to the Bentley. He watched his hands clutch the steering wheel and suddenly he was driving away from the rubble of the bookshop. He stared wretchedly out the windshield as he kept driving, not sure where he was going. His mind was spinning with images of burning books, of ash and fire, of soot and smoke that burned his lungs and stung his eyes.

Images of fire.

Crowley reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a new pair of glasses. He had tried so hard, had done everything in his power to keep Hell away from his angel. Had made sure to always throw off any suspicions Hell may have had, was careful to thwart and cancel out every good deed with one of equal consequence. But he hadn’t done enough. He had been too fucking late and now Aziraphale was gone. He should have fought harder, should have taken Aziraphale by the hand and dragged him to the stars. _Alpha Centauri_. It wouldn’t have solved all their problems, Heaven and Hell would still be after them, they would constantly be running; but they would have had _time_ , and they would be together, and Aziraphale-

Aziraphale would still be alive.

A wave of grief overtook him, replacing the numbness with a fresh and sharp pain. Crowley didn’t need the heart that his corporation stored, but over millennia he had gotten used to it, and right now it felt as if where there had once been an aching heart was a gaping hole that went past his human body and into his infernal soul. He somehow felt both hollow and filled to the brim with pain.

Crowley slammed his head on the steering wheel. What was the bloody point of it? All of it. Six thousand years for it to all go up in flames.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get some control back over his sodding human corporation. But it was of no use, tears began to fall down his face as he struggled to keep himself together.

Aziraphale was gone. Completely and truly _gone._ There was no trace left of him, no angelic presence anywhere near. The bookshop was burning. Aziraphale would _never_ let his bookshop burn, even if he had been recalled to Heaven, he would ensure that his beloved bookshop was safe from harm. Which left only one option: Aziraphale was dead and there was nothing else Crowley could do about it. Crowley clutched at the book in his lap: _The Nice and Accurate Prophesies of Agnes Nutter, Witch,_ charred almost beyond recognition. He didn’t want to open it lest his fingers make the paper crumple to ashes, didn’t want to lose what little he had left.

_What little he had left._

The thought shook Crowley to his core. Six millennia of life, of time with Aziraphale, and what did he have to show for it? A statue in his flat and a burned book. There wasn’t even a body to bury, presumably lost along with Aziraphale.

Crowley clutched the book in his hands.

He didn’t know who had set the shop on fire, didn’t know who had killed Aziraphale. It didn’t matter because his angel was gone and it was the end of the sodding world and Aziraphale was gone and there was nothing else he could bloody do that would make any difference because _Aziraphale was gone_ and Crowley would be damned twice over if he wasn’t going to make the bastards pay. Heaven and Hell were going to war. Crowley wouldn’t fight for either of them. When the war started Crowley would fight anyone, everyone. How did the saying go? _The most dangerous man on the battlefield is the man with nothing left to lose._

Crowley had lost everything.

He found himself parked out in front of a little pub that he had visited a few times before, one where he knew that as long as he ordered a drink no one would ask questions. He sat down at an empty table with a bottle of whiskey and began to pour it into a shot glass. Everything was dark and miserable and there was no sodding point in being sober for his last hours before everything was shot to Hell (or Heaven).

As he downed each shot, Crowley slowly found himself losing control of his own thoughts and doing the one thing a demon should never do: praying.

 _Listen up you ineffable bastard,_ Crowley thought as he slammed the glass back on the table and began to pour himself another shot. _How can you bloody say you love all of your creations, and then destroy us all? He did everything for you. He followed his orders; he loved the humans as much as he loved you. He was a good and loyal angel, better than any of the other wankers up there, and now he’s fucking dead. He didn’t deserve this. He was good, he was truly and actually_ good. _All he wanted to do was help people and read his books. It isn’t much, hardly anything really. But an angel can’t have that can he? Can’t have anything that simple. Can’t want anything for himself._

Crowley downed another shot, his head beginning to grow fuzzy.

_An angel can’t want material possessions, can’t enjoy a meal with wine, or hot cocoa with little marshmallows._

_Angels aren’t allowed to fall in love. They can love all of your creations, but in the way the humans love birds, distant and cold. They can’t love an individual. The only being they’re allowed to love is you. And he loved you. More than anything._

Crowley gave up on the shot glass and tipped the bottle to his lips. He wasn’t drunk enough yet. It was the end of the sodding world and Crowley wasn’t fucking drunk enough for this.

There hadn’t been enough time. A few thousand years of an unlikely alliance and then a few more of hesitant friendship. Crowley had stood on the gate of Eden under the wing of an angel as the first rain fell upon the earth, had watched the humans venture out into the unfriendly desert and into a new world. Crowley had seen Cain beat Abel over the head with the jawbone of an animal and be cursed to wander the earth forever. He had watched the stupid, clever humans spread out across the globe and slowly began to learn and grow. He had seen empires rise at the hands of one leader and fall at those of another. Crowley had stood by and watched Nero fiddle while Rome burned. He had seen wars and atrocities committed while humans cried out for the mercy of God. Crowley had seen angelic fury in the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and had seen the hellish mercy in death.

But for every painful memory was a balancing grace. There were blessedly awkward meetings while hiding from the ever-prying eyes. There were dinners and bright flashes of inhumanly clever blue eyes. A smile for every city razed. A forbidden touch for every war. A kiss for the end of the world.

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Another six thousand years would still want more.

“Listen,” Crowley muttered into the bottle, no longer caring who might hear him, “I know why I Fell. I didn’t mean to, but I know why. You could have at least given him the dignity of Falling. There were so many reasons he could have Fallen, he was fussy and selfish and there were days when he refused to open up the shop just because he didn’t want to deal with the humans; it could have all been explained away. He wouldn’t have liked it, he would have been angry, but he would have learned to live with it. _He could have lived._ But you couldn’t have that could you? Another fallen angel right before the war with your beloved heaven? Far easier to destroy him completely, take away any chance of rebellion.”

Crowley lifted the bottle to his lips and found that it was empty. The bottle quickly reconsidered its life choices and deigned to refill itself. The rain was still pouring outside the pub windows. There was a certain irony to it, the world beginning and ending with a storm. Only this time there was no angel to lift a wing over him and shield him from the falling droplets. This time there was only Crowley alone and outcast once again.

“I never asked to be a demon. I was just minding my own business one day then, looky here, it’s Lucifer and the guys, okay the food hadn’t been that good lately, I’d got nothing on for the rest of the afternoon, next thing I’m doing a million-light-year freestyle dive into a pool of boiling Sulphur.”

There was a flash of lightning and Crowley’s heart jumped to his throat.

 _Aziraphale_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Title taken from Bastille's _Doom Days ___  
> 2) We're in the end days now. I'm predicting a few more chapters before this thing is done for good. Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with it this far. You are all wonderful and I am thankful for every one of you. Hearing from you guys is always a bright spot in my day, so please feel free to chatter along in the comments section.  
>  <3


	17. In case you don't live forever

**Tadfield, London, 2019**

It was the end of the world,

and then,

it wasn’t.

What the fuck were they supposed to do now?

The world was changed, Crowley knew that for sure. It hadn’t been dramatic, no sudden shift in the skyline of new cities, no toxic nuclear wasteland, it looked just the same as it had before. But appearances could be deceiving. Crowley could _feel_ that the world had changed. Where before there had been a building sense of impending doom was now the ordinary feel of life continuing on as normal.

And all of it was thanks to Adam.

That brilliant little antichrist. Crowley and Aziraphale had both been terrified that he would bring about the end of the world, that without influences from both sides, he would grow up to be evil, the antichrist of storybooks. They hadn’t ever considered that he would be perfectly fine- better in fact- getting to grow up a normal boy on Earth.

When Lucifer- disappeared? Returned to Hell? Never came up in the first place? Was gone, there was a brief moment when the world was silent as they all stared at each other, trying to make sense of what just happened. Adam’s father looked completely confused, as if he wasn’t sure what he was doing there- which was probably true. He had yelled at Adam as to what on earth he was doing in an air base, and Crowley couldn’t help it, he laughed. After everything that had happened that day- Aziraphale disappearing and coming back, the end of the world. Children fighting off the four horsemen, and an eleven-year-old kid telling Satan to literally go to hell; a father yelling at the actual antichrist after the kid had just saved the planet- it was ridiculous.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Aziraphale asked him in a concerned voice. He fluttered his hands over Crowley’s sooty clothes, tugging at the lapels slightly as if that would make anything better.

“I need a drink.” Crowley said, gently pushing Aziraphale’s hands away. It had been a _very_ long day.

Aziraphale nodded, a small smile on his face. “That, I believe, is something I can get behind.”

They said their goodbyes to book girl and her boyfriend, along with Madame Tracy and Shadwell (Crowley was going to have to remember to talk to him later about who exactly that man was working for and how exactly he had ended up stuck with Aziraphale at the base) and together they went to talk to Adam.

“Young man,” Aziraphale said, “I believe that we all owe you a great deal of thanks.” Adam looked at both of them and smiled, it was a smile that Crowley had seen in the people who would grow up to be far wiser and know more than either he or Aziraphale ever would be. “But for now, I think this is goodbye- there are still things to be dealt with in Heaven and Hell, and both of us also have things we must discuss.” Crowley nodded absentmindedly. Aziraphale was right- of course he was. Heaven and Hell needed scapegoats, and Crowley and Aziraphale were the best options.

“Goodbye Adam,” Crowley said, and he and Aziraphale both turned to leave.

“Goodbye Aziraphale, goodbye Crowley!” Adam called out to them. Crowley heard Adam’s father beginning to question the boy on who they were, why everyone was there, and began what Crowley guessed was going to be a long lecture about how Adam was grounded.

“I- I don’t remember ever telling him our names,” Aziraphale said under his breath.

“Suppose we didn’t have to. He already knew everything about us the second he laid eyes on us.”

They walked together in silence, the sleeping soldiers barely stirring as they passed through the gates of the American air base and back onto English soil. Crowley stared ahead warily, expecting to see the charred ruins of his beloved Bentley, but to his surprise, there was nothing there. No wreckage, no ashes, not even a scorch mark from the explosion. It was as if the car had never been there in the first place. That was odd, Crowley knew, but he couldn’t dwell on it. He assumed it was something Adam had done. Aziraphale stopped, turning to face Crowley with a soft look on his face.

“I am sorry about the car; I know how much it meant to you.”

“It’s-it’s alright angel, I had more important things on my mind.” _Finding you, for a start._

Aziraphale smiled and brought one hand to Crowley’s face, staring at him with those wide, trusting eyes. The angel frowned slightly and pulled his hand back, looking at his hand, and Crowley was suddenly struck by the irrational fear that he had done something wrong.

“My dear, you are positively filthy!” Aziraphale exclaimed, a concerned look on his face.

“Well, I was in a burning car so…”

“Let me-” Aziraphale reached up again and this time placed his hand on Crowley’s neck, gingerly brushing his thumb over Crowley’s jawline. Suddenly Crowley felt all the dirt and ash and soot lift off him. Aziraphale dropped his hand, but stayed standing there, looking up at him with a fond expression.

“Now,” Aziraphale said after a moment, “I believe you said something about a drink?” Crowley held up his formerly empty hand to show a bottle of wine.

“I know it’s not as good as the real stuff, but-”

“It’s perfect.” Aziraphale interrupted him, a bright light glinting in his eye.

Silence fell between them again as they kept walking- somewhere. Crowley didn’t know where they were going, and he suspected neither did Aziraphale. But they were together and they were moving away from the end of the world, every second another impossible bit of time that Crowley had thought they wouldn’t have.

“You don’t have a side anymore. Neither of us do. We’re on our own side.” _There’s nothing left for you in Heaven,_ Crowley thought, _Nothing left for me in Hell. We only have each other now. I’ll take those odds. Will you?_ The bus that was not going to Oxford pulled up in front of them, its doors opening for the two of them. Crowley stood up first, setting the empty wine bottle down on the bench.

“You coming?” Crowley stepped onto the bus without looking behind him. He chose a seat at random and sat down, looking out the window of the bus. He saw Aziraphale board the bus out of the corner of his eye. The angel sat down, and Crowley felt a hand slip into his own, entwining their fingers. Crowley gave the hand an experimental squeeze, and Aziraphale responded immediately and squeezed back, the pressure comforting as Crowley felt his heart begin beating erratically. They sat in silence for a long period of time, hand in hand, Crowley staring out the window, watching the countryside turn into the bustling city. The bus stopped right in front of Crowley’s flat, thanks to a very confused bus driver (Crowley made sure that the next morning the man would find a large sum of money in his bank account as payment). Aziraphale stood up first, dropping Crowley’s hand. Crowley couldn’t help but feel a surge of disappointment at that, but he didn’t say anything. They stood outside the door to Crowley’s flat, neither of them making the move to open the door.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said quietly, “if your offer is still valid, I think I would very much like to- may I stay here tonight Crowley?” Aziraphale fidgeted with his hands, his eyes cast downwards at the pavement.

“You can stay for as long as you like, angel.” Crowley said, his voice low and soft. It was only then that Aziraphale met his gaze, and Crowley reached for the doorknob. Aziraphale stepped in first, Crowley following right behind and locking the door as soon as they were both safely inside. They walked down the hallway towards the living room when Aziraphale stopped, his hand flying up to his mouth and his eyes wide.

_“Crowley…”_ Aziraphale said, fear in his voice as he looked at the empty thermos, a puddle of water still on the floor.

“Ligur.” Crowley said, feeling tense. “Him and Hastur, they came here- it was my only choice, angel.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the puddle of water was gone. Crowley exhaled a sigh of relief at the holy water’s absence. The thermos was gone too, but that wasn’t so important and besides, he hoped he never had to see it again. Aziraphale’s shoulders visibly relaxed and Crowley coaxed him to the living room and bid him to sit down while he disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing a couple minutes later with a cup of tea in one hand and a wine glass in the other. Aziraphale gratefully accepted the cup of tea as Crowley sat down next to him on the couch.

“This isn’t over you know.” Aziraphale said, fishing a charred piece of paper out of the pocket of his waistcoat. “Here, read this.”

“When all is said and done, ye must choose your faces wisely, for soon enough ye will be playing with fire.” Crowley read aloud. “Agnes again huh? One last prophesy for what comes after the end of the world. Do you think it has to do with us?”

“I believe so, yes. She could see the future after all, so she must have known this piece would- quite literally- fall into my hands.” Crowley hummed in agreement and took another gulp of wine.

“Do you have any idea what will happen?” Crowley asked, shifting on the couch so that he was facing Aziraphale.

“I- I mean I suppose there will be a trial, and if I am found guilty there will be an… an execution. There’s a reason angels don’t fall anymore. Many don’t even have that option.” Aziraphale shuddered and took another sip of tea.

“Same thing for me, and my lot never get “not guilty” verdicts.”

“There has to be something else we can do.” Aziraphale said.

“We can leave together, just you and me.” Crowley offered again, only half meaning it.

“Alpha Centauri.” Aziraphale whispered, he paused, meeting Crowley’s eyes before speaking. “It’s not that I don’t want to go with you Crowley, and maybe we can, someday when this is all over. But right now? They would find us, and we would have to fight all of Heaven and Hell.” Aziraphale was right, Crowley knew Aziraphale was right. “I don’t want to risk- I can’t lose you, Crowley.” Aziraphale whispered, so quiet Crowley was barely able to hear him.”

“What other option do we have?” Crowley asked desperately.

“I don’t know yet.” Aziraphale said simply, “But we’ve always managed to work it out, and we can do it again.” He sounded so confident; how could he sound so confident after what they had just been through? But Aziraphale believed in them, and that was enough for Crowley.

They did eventually put it all together. Heaven would punish Aziraphale with hellfire and Crowley with holy water. Crowley knew Aziraphale better than anybody, and Aziraphale knew Crowley. As long as neither of their sides could tell the difference, they would be okay, they just had to make it through their trials, and then they would be free. Crowley could hardly imagine it, freedom. Free from orders, free from control, free from Hell. He looked over at Aziraphale, who was sitting contentedly on a couch and finishing his tea. Aziraphale would be free too, free from Heaven and their manipulations. They would truly have no sides anymore; it would just be them, just Crowley and Aziraphale. The angel closed his eyes contentedly and Crowley’s heart tensed. There was always the chance it could go wrong. Or that only one of them would make it back. Aziraphale stood up, and Crowley followed suit taking off his glasses before, stepping forward and grabbing one of Aziraphale’s hands, cradling the angel’s hand with his own.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, his voice barely above a whisper, “in case- in case this doesn’t work. I have something I need to tell you, I need to say it, at least once.” Crowley took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before speaking again. “Angel I- I love you. I’ve always- since the beginning- and it’s okay if you don’t- you know, but I had to say it, I needed you to know so-”

Crowley’s rambling was stopped when Aziraphale grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and kissed him. Crowley froze, his brain still trying to catch up. He moved his hands to Aziraphale’s lower back, pulling the angel closer and tilting his head down so that he could deepen the kiss, relishing the feel of Aziraphale’s body pressed against his own. It had been far too long since they had done this, that night in the bookshop. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck, his lips parting as Crowley angled his head to deepen the kiss, taking advantage of the angel’s open mouth and tugging lightly at Aziraphale’s bottom lip. Aziraphale pressed into him, eager for more, but Crowley pulled back, leaving their foreheads pressed together.

“I take it this means-”

“I love you too, you wonderful, wily serpent.” Crowley kissed him again, tightening his hold on Aziraphale’s waist.

“I thought I lost you today, he whispered, “I couldn’t find you and the bookshop was on fire and I thought- I thought that if you weren’t there then you must be-” Crowley closed his eyes, pushing away memories of flames and burning books, “Just- come back to me Aziraphale. I can’t lose you again. Promise me, angel, promise you’ll come back to me.”

“I will,” Aziraphale smiled, running his hand through Crowley’s hair. “My dear, I will. And you best do the same.”

“I will always find my way back to you.” Aziraphale surged forward and kissed him fiercely, but not rough, it was passionate and loving and protective, and Crowley met him all too eagerly. One kiss turned into two, and two turned into three, and three turned into four, and both of them lost track of anything resembling a conversation and focused solely on making good use of borrowed time.

Eventually Crowley pulled away, a brief look at his watch marking it as one in the morning. He stood up and offered Aziraphale his hand. Aziraphale took it unquestioningly and Crowley led the angel back to his bedroom. He wasn’t thinking about sex, there would be time for that later (hopefully a lot more time,) but he was thinking about rest. About sleep. About how tomorrow might be their last day on Earth and how Crowley wasn’t going to let Aziraphale out of his arms as long as he could get away with it. He sat down on the bed, slipped off his shoes and pulled off his jacket, too tired to bother doing anything else. He plopped down on the bed and closed his eyes. After a moment he opened one eye and saw Aziraphale staring at him.

“Are you going to join me or not?”

Aziraphale sat down on the other side of the bed and hesitantly took of his shoes, untied his bowtie, removed his jacket and waistcoat and undid the top buttons of his shirt. Crowley snapped his fingers, turning the lights of as Aziraphale pulled back the covers and lied down facing Crowley. Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s face with his palm and kissed him lightly, gently pulling Aziraphale closer so Crowley could wrap his arms around the angel and hold him, breathing in Aziraphale’s cologne as he worked to convince his brain that Aziraphale was here with him. He closed his eyes.

“Try and sleep, I know you normally don’t bother, but just try or at least- just stay with me.”

“As long as you’ll have me.”

“That might be an awfully long time.”

“I can handle that.”

Aziraphale twisted around, settling in so his back was against Crowley’s chest. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist and kissed the top of the angel’s head.

“I love you.” Crowley said quietly, feeling a slight thrill at being able to say it.

“And I you. Now rest, dearest.”

Crowley closed his eyes. Even if it all went wrong tomorrow at least he had this, at least he had tonight, and Crowley would face all of Heaven and all of Hell as long as he had his angel by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Chapter title from _In case you don't live forever_ by Ben Platt. If you haven't heard this song yet, go listen to it right now- and bring tissues because it is beautiful and makes me cry every time.
> 
> 2) We are almost done. I can hardly believe it. So much has happened since I started this back in July, you guys and your encouraging words have made this thing so incredibly special to me. Thank you to all of those who have stuck with me along the way. (And a special shout-out to my lovely fam on Discord. Love you guys!) You mean the world to me. I'll see you at the end of this my darlings!
> 
> <3


	18. Something so Flawed and Free

**Devil’s Dyke, London, 2019**

Surprisingly enough to everybody, it worked. Somehow- whether through luck or talent or be it by Her plan- they managed to fool both Heaven and Hell. They celebrated that evening at the Ritz, “to the world,” Aziraphale had said, _I love you._ After they had finished dining Aziraphale insisted that they should go to St. James, for old times sake. And Crowley had agreed without argument, smiling fondly at Aziraphale in a way that made his cheeks flush. They walked together, side by side, but not close, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice the distance between them with a pang of disappointment. They walked next to each other with, hands swinging lightly at their sides as they vaguely took in their surroundings. Aziraphale thought that, for just a moment, he heard a bird singing in a nearby tree, surely he must have been imagining it; but maybe he hadn’t- as at the same moment, Crowley turned his head towards the direction of the sound and brushed the back of his hand against Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale seized the opportunity and took Crowley’s hand, entwining their fingers. Crowley didn’t say anything, didn’t look at Aziraphale or their entwined hands, but he shifted an infinitesimal bit closer, shortening the distance between them so they could walk, hand-in-hand, through the spots they had frequented for the past three hundred years. They wandered for some time, with no particular place in mind. Eventually, as if by some twist of fate, they ended up in front of the bandstand. Crowley stiffened, his grip tightening in Aziraphale’s hand, as if he was assuring himself that Aziraphale was still there. He looked at Crowley, saw his stiff posture and the way he purposely avoided looking at Aziraphale, and Aziraphale realized he had to make up for something. He coaxed Crowley into the bandstand and stood in front of him the way he had not a day ago when he rejected Crowley’s offer. He kept a tight hold on Crowley’s hand, and moved his free hand up to the side of Crowley’s face.

“May I?” he asked, tapping Crowley’s glasses gently with one finger. Crowley nodded slightly and tilted his head down so Aziraphale could gingerly slide the glasses off Crowley’s face, revealing absolutely stunning saffron yellow eyes.

“You offered to run away with me.” Aziraphale said simply. “And I said that I didn’t like you, that there was no our side, that it was over between us.” He held Crowley’s gaze, the demon’s expression gaunt and hollow. “I was trying to save you, to protect you from what I saw to be a doomed plight. But I hurt you also, and that is something I have never wished to do and something I hope I shall never do again. Crowley, my dearest,” he gave Crowley’s hand a comforting squeeze, “I will go anywhere with you, as long as we are together.” It felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest as soon as Aziraphale spoke the words. Crowley stared with him with a melancholy expression for a moment before he took Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kissed him desperately, pulling Aziraphale close against him.

 _“Angel.”_ Crowley sighed against his lips.

_“Crowley.”_

In the books and fairytales that Aziraphale had in his shop, this would be where the story would end- with a desperate and loving kiss- but he had a feeling that this wasn’t the end, not quite yet.

Aziraphale noticed it gradually, the way they crept into each other’s lives. First, it was the two white-winged mugs that found themselves in Crowley’s flat next to a tea kettle that Aziraphale was certain hadn’t been there in any of his earlier visits. Then it was the small plant or two that Crowley snuck into a sunlight corner of the bookshop- flourishing where they sat in their pots. Then it was the pair of glasses that Aziraphale found sitting on his desk, and the jacket that he left at Crowley’s flat one evening. Slowly but surely, they began to take up more space in each other’s lives until each room had something shared- an amalgamation of dark and light that somehow matched despite all logic saying otherwise. They spent far more time together, both of them reveling in being able to enjoy the other’s company openly. They would walk together, hand-in-hand through St. James Park, each time sending a slight thrill through Aziraphale as they recalled events that had happened in the past, shared experiences that only they were left alive to remember. Days like those would usually be followed by a dinner out at some restaurant that one of them had heard about and decided to try, and then they would either go back to Aziraphale’s bookshop or Crowley’s flat and then indulge in far more…pleasurable, activities.

They weren’t together every day, exactly. Sometimes one of them would have to leave London for a little while, or Aziraphale would be busy in the shop and not be able to make it out; but those days were few and far between, and they spent the majority of their time enjoying what they had denied themselves for so long.

It was Aziraphale who suggested it first, over a bottle of _Châteauneuf-du-Pape_ one evening.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale had asked hesitantly. “I’ve been- ehm- I’ve been looking at places down south. I just don’t think that London is quite right anymore. Anyways, I found someplace and- frankly, it’s perfect. I was-” Aziraphale took a deep gulp of wine before continuing. “I was wondering if you would want to come with me?” Aziraphale poured himself another glass of wine, looking anxiously at Crowley.

“Yes!” Crowley answered quickly. “Yes, I’ll go with you Aziraphale, you idiot.” Aziraphale relaxed at Crowley’s exclamation, exhaling heavily before offering a relieved smile. “I offered to go to the stars with you, did you really think I would say no?” Aziraphale shook his head slightly and closed the distance between them, kissing Crowley’s wine-sweet lips, eager and excited for whatever came next.

The cottage was indeed perfect. The outside was made of a painted white brick with sage-green shingles on the roof, a small cobblestone chimney poking through the top. It was large and roomy, but not uncomfortably so, both of them miraculously had just the right amount of space for whatever belongings they wished to keep (Aziraphale was more than fine with having the eagle statue from the church being kept in the hallway, but the statue of the two angels that Crowley insisted were “wrestling” could not be kept on public display in the house). There was a rather lovely library where Aziraphale would bring some of his collection when he wished (he had decided to keep the bookshop, after three hundred years one tends to get rather attached to a place) there was also a miraculously soundproof greenhouse at the back of the cottage where Crowley could keep his plants. They spent their days enjoying the domesticity of an ordinary life without influence or orders from Heaven or Hell- a luxury neither of them had thought they would have.

There were bad days too of course, there were bound to be some- when memories of the past would catch up with them. Aziraphale remembered one time he had gotten distracted while trying to cook, and smoke had filled the kitchen, leaking out into the living room where Crowley was sleeping on a couch. Crowley had run into the kitchen, his eyes fully serpentine and frantic as he called out Aziraphale’s name, sounding more terrified than Aziraphale had ever heard him. Aziraphale had snapped his fingers, clearing everything away and immediately wrapping Crowley in a tight embrace. Aziraphale remembered how Crowley had held him tight and buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck, unwilling to let go. Crowley had told Aziraphale what had happened- in bits and pieces he explained what he had done when he pulled up to Aziraphale’s shop and found it in flames. Aziraphale knew that Crowley still carried the weight of that memory with him, so he held Crowley close and muttered comforting words into his ear until Crowley’s ragged breathing evened out again and they made their way back to the living room couch and didn’t move for the rest of the day.

Aziraphale was rereading _Beowulf_ in his library, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his neck as he turned the well-loved pages. He didn’t know how long he had been there, but when he looked up after turning the last page, Crowley was standing in the doorway, watching him with a soft smile on his face that Aziraphale knew he would never wear openly in any other place. When he saw Aziraphale look up, Crowley sauntered across that room in that enticing way of his and kissed Aziraphale, causing him to put his book down and angle his head so he could deepen the kiss.

 _“Marry me.”_ Crowley asked against his lips. Aziraphale pulled back quickly, not sure he had heard right. Crowley was looking at him in shock, his hand flying up to cover his mouth. “ _Bless it all!_ Crowley muttered angrily, “I had it all planned out- and then I go and let it slip.”

“What?” Aziraphale asked, still trying to catch up.

“Marry me?” Crowley asked again, sounding far less certain than he had before. “I wasn’t planning on doing this now. Look, angel, whatever time we have left on Earth, I want to spend it with you, no matter how long we’ve got. Obviously, you don’t have to answer immediately.” Crowley continued, sounding more anxious as he went on. “But I just wanted to-”

“Yes”

Crowley blinked, “What?”

“Yes, I will marry you.” Aziraphale had never been more certain of anything in his life. Crowley laughed in what could only be described as delight and surged forward to kiss Aziraphale again.

“I had it all planned you know? There was going to be dinner and music and I would get down on one knee and it would have been-”

“Perfect.” Aziraphale finished for him. “My dearest, it already was. Although,” he continued, a coy grin creeping onto his face, “I would still be inclined towards dinner if you were offering.”

Crowley laughed again, kissing Aziraphale on the cheek. “Anything for you, angel. The Ritz?” Crowley stood up and held out one arm to Aziraphale like a Victorian gentleman. Aziraphale stood and took Crowley’s arm.

“Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”

They stood outside underneath the dark starry sky, their hands held out in front of them and their wings spread out behind them. Crowley stood in front of him in an exquisitely tailored black suit that fit him in a way that made Aziraphale feel rather glad they were unaccompanied.

“Until the end of the world,” Aziraphale said, squeezing Crowley’s hands.

“And after.” Crowley finished. He let go of Aziraphale’s hands so he could move them up to cup Aziraphale’s face. Crowley leaned down and Aziraphale rose up to meet him in the middle for a light kiss that send sparks down Aziraphale’s body and left him feeling exhilarated and oddly breathless as he pulled away. He examined the gold and white sapphire ring on his left hand, and the matching black gold and garnet ring on his husband’s.

“Having second thoughts already?” Crowley joked.

“Not even for a second.” Aziraphale reassured him. “Now, I do believe there’s a tradition for one’s wedding night?”

“There are a lot of traditions, angel, you’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that.” Crowley said, a teasing look on his face. Aziraphale rolled his eyes and kissed Crowley in a manner that he hoped let the demon know _exactly_ what tradition he was thinking of. He pulled away after a moment, suddenly thankful that his corporation didn’t technically need to breathe.

“Was that specific enough for you? Or do I need to go into more detail.” Aziraphale ran one finger up Crowley’s spine, letting his hand rest at the base of Crowley’s wings and Crowley practically _shuddered_ in his arms.

“I think you need to go into loads more detail.” Crowley said, bending down so he could whisper into Aziraphale’s ear, his lips barely brushing against his cheek, “Suddenly I think it’s getting rather cold outside, don’t you? How about we go inside and you can explain to me, at length, exactly which tradition you’re thinking of.” Crowley smirked. Aziraphale took his husband’s hand and began to lead them back to the cottage where he suspected that, despite the late hour, neither of them were going to get any sleep that night.

The best days were the ordinary ones, the days when Aziraphale would open his eyes and the first thing he saw was messy red hair and golden eyes, when he would kiss his husband good morning and they would eventually trudge out of bed (or some days they wouldn’t). Crowley would make tea, Aziraphale would make breakfast, and they would go about their day. Sometimes Aziraphale would go down to the village and Crowley would stay at the cottage and “take care of” his plants (Aziraphale really needed to encourage Crowley to be kinder to them, the poor dears were terrified). Some days Aziraphale would spend all day in the library while Crowley would go out to do some demonic work of his own- old habits die hard after all, and besides, Aziraphale could always offset it later. It was common for Aziraphale to lose track of time and as he turned page after page, only stopping when Crowley would come back and tempt him to come to bed. It was a simple and it was ordinary- or as ordinary as life cold get for two supernatural entities. And while a part of Aziraphale knew that this serendipity wouldn’t last forever (nothing ever did, especially when forever was a very real option) he certainly planned on enjoying every minute of it that he could get.

Sometimes all Aziraphale could do was stare at Crowley in wonder, as the demon recalled some evil deed from the past. An angel and a demon, living together, _married,_ living a life Aziraphale had never let himself imagine. Aziraphale cut off Crowley’s rambling with a kiss.

“How did I ever get by without you?” Aziraphale muttered as he pulled away.

“You never have to again.” Crowley said, an honest edge to his voice that Aziraphale was getting used to hearing more often. Crowley held up his hand, showing off the ring on his left hand, “Now you’re stuck with me, _forever.”_ Aziraphale laughed, pulling Crowley in for another kiss.

“My dear, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Six thousand years of friendship had been leading up to this. It was messy and it was beautiful and it was, (although Crowley would deny it) just a little bit ineffable. And Aziraphale knew he would do it all over as long as they ended up right here where they belonged: with Crowley and him side by side, together as they had been since Eden, and as they would be for the rest of eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Hozier's _Movement._
> 
> Hey guys, we made it, the very last chapter (40k words!!!). I can hardly believe it. This is by far the longest fic I have ever written, and this first multi-chapter fic I have ever actually finished, and that is all thanks to you guys; you wonderful people who have encouraged me through this. I will forever be thankful for you. I have made so many friends in this fandom partly because of this fic, and I am sad to see it go, but I will be back soon with new content and stories, I'm not going anywhere yet. I know I'm getting repetitive here, but seriously I cannot thank you guys enough for supporting me through this, and I appreciate every single one of you who has read this far, your kind words have meant the world to me and made my year so much better than it started out.
> 
> <3
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/alltheprettygirlsintheworld)


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